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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20343-8.txt b/20343-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef3c019 --- /dev/null +++ b/20343-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10072 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Spinner's Book of Fiction, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Spinner's Book of Fiction + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 11, 2007 [EBook #20343] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPINNER'S BOOK OF FICTION *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "THE DEVIL SIT IN FILON'S EYES AND LAUGH--LAUGH--SOME +TIME HE GO AWAY LIKE A MAN AT A WINDOW, BUT HE COME AGAIN. +M'siu, he live there!" From a Painting by E. Almond Withrow.] + + + + + THE SPINNERS' BOOK OF FICTION + + BY + + GERTRUDE ATHERTON, MARY AUSTIN + GERALDINE BONNER, MARY HALLECK FOOTE + ELEANOR GATES, JAMES HOPPER, JACK LONDON + BAILEY MILLARD, MIRIAM + MICHELSON, W. C. MORROW + FRANK NORRIS, HENRY MILNER RIDEOUT + CHARLES WARREN STODDARD, ISOBEL STRONG + RICHARD WALTON TULLY AND + HERMAN WHITAKER + + WITH A DEDICATORY POEM BY GEORGE STERLING + + COLLECTED BY THE BOOK COMMITTEE OF THE SPINNERS' CLUB + + ILLUSTRATED BY LILLIE V. O'RYAN, MAYNARD DIXON ALBERTINE RANDALL + WHEELAN, MERLE JOHNSON E. ALMOND WITHROW AND GORDON ROSS INITIALS AND + DECORATIONS BY SPENCER WRIGHT + + PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY SAN FRANCISCO AND NEW YORK + + _Published in behalf_ _of The Spinners' Benefit Fund_ + _Ina D. Coolbrith_ _First Beneficiary_ + _Copyright_, 1907 _by_ PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY + + * * * * * + + + + +TO INA D. COOLBRITH + + + WITH WILDER SIGHING IN THE PINE + THE WIND WENT BY, AND SO I DREAMED; + AND IN THAT DUSK OF SLEEP IT SEEMED + A CITY BY THE SEA WAS MINE. + + TO STATELIER SPRANG THE WALLS OF TYRE + FROM SEAWARD CLIFF OR STABLE HILL; + AND LIGHT AND MUSIC MET TO FILL + THE SPLENDID COURTS OF HER DESIRE-- + + (EXTOLLING CHORDS THAT CRIED HER PRAISE, + AND GOLDEN REEDS WHOSE MELLOW MOAN + WAS LIKE AN OCEAN'S UNDERTONE + DYING AND LOST ON FOREST WAYS). + + BUT SWEETER FAR THAN ANY SOUND + THAT RANG OR RIPPLED IN HER HALLS, + WAS ONE BEYOND HER EASTERN WALLS, + BY SUMMER GARDENS GIRDLED ROUND. + + TWAS FROM A NIGHTINGALE, AND OH! + THE SONG IT SANG HATH NEVER WORD! + SWEETER IT SEEMED THAN LOVE'S, FIRST-HEARD, + OR LUTES IN AIDENN MURMURING LOW. + + FAINT, AS WHEN DROWSY WINDS AWAKE + A SISTERHOOD OF FAERY BELLS, + IT WON REPLY FROM HIDDEN DELLS, + LOYAL TO ECHO FOR ITS SAKE.... + + I DREAMT I SLEPT, BUT CANNOT SAY + HOW MANY DREAMLAND SEASONS FLED, + NOR WHAT HORIZON OF THE DEAD + GAVE BACK MY DREAM'S UNCERTAIN DAY. + + BUT STILL BESIDE THE TOILING SEA + I LAY, AND SAW--FOR WALLS O'ERGROWN-- + THE CITY THAT WAS MINE HAD KNOWN + TIME'S SURE AND ANCIENT TREACHERY. + + ABOVE HER RAMPARTS, BROAD AS TYRE'S, + THE GRASSES' MOUNTING ARMY BROKE; + THE SHADOW OF THE SPRAWLING OAK + USURPT THE SPLENDOR OF HER FIRES. + + BUT O'ER THE FALLEN MARBLES PALE + I HEARD, LIKE ELFIN MELODIES + BLOWN OVER FROM ENCHANTED SEAS, + THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHTINGALE. + + GEORGE STERLING. + + + + +THE STORIES + + +CONCHA ARGÜELLO, SISTER DOMINICA +_by Gertrude Atherton_ + +THE FORD OF CRÈVECOEUR +_by Mary Austin_ + +A CALIFORNIAN +_by Geraldine Bonner_ + +GIDEON'S KNOCK +_by Mary Halleck Foote_ + +A YELLOW MAN AND A WHITE +_by Eleanor Gates_ + +THE JUDGMENT OF MAN +_by James Hopper_ + +THE LEAGUE OF THE OLD MEN +_by Jack London_ + +DOWN THE FLUME WITH THE SNEATH PIANO +_by Bailey Millard_ + +THE CONTUMACY OF SARAH L. WALKER +_by Miriam Michelson_ + +BREAKING THROUGH +_by W. C. Morrow_ + +A LOST STORY +_by Frank Norris_ + +HANTU +_by Henry Milner Rideout_ + +MISS. JUNO +_by Charles Warren Stoddard_ + +A LITTLE SAVAGE GENTLEMAN +_by Isobel Strong_ + +LOVE AND ADVERTISING +_by Richard Walton Tully_ + +THE TEWANA +_by Herman Whitaker_ + + + + +THE ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"The devil sit in Filon's eyes and laugh--laugh--some time +he go away like a man at a window, but he come again. +M'siu, he _live_ there!" +_from a painting by E. Almond Withrow_ + +"She was always very sweet, our Concha, but there never was +a time when you could take a liberty with her." +_from a painting by Lillie V. O'Ryan_ + +"The petal of a plum blossom." +_from a painting by Albertine Randall Wheelan_ + +"Not twenty feet from me Miller sat upright in his canoe as +if petrified." _Opp. Page_ +_from a painting by Merle Johnson_ + +"All their ways lead to death." +_from a painting by Maynard Dixon_ + +"Dawn was flooding the east, and still the boy lurched and +floundered on and on." +_from a painting by Gordon Ross_ + + + + +WHEREFORE? + + +_Wherefore this book of fiction by Californian writers? And why its +appeal otherwise than that of obvious esthetic and literary qualities? +They who read what follows will know._ + +_The fund, which the sale of this book is purposed to aid, was planned +by The Spinners soon after the eighteenth of April, 1906, and was +started with two hundred dollars from their treasury. To this, Mrs. +Gertrude Atherton added another two hundred dollars. Several women's +clubs and private individuals also generously responded, so that now +there is a thousand dollars to the credit of the fund. A bond has been +bought and the interest from it will be paid to Ina D. Coolbrith, the +poet, and first chosen beneficiary of the fund. The Spinners feel +assured that this book will meet with such a ready sale as to make +possible the purchase of several bonds, and so render the accruing +interest a steady source of aid to Miss. Coolbrith._ + +_All who have read and fallen under the charm of her "Songs from the +Golden Gate," or felt the beauty and tenderness of the verses "When the +Grass Shall Cover Me," will, without question, unite in making +"assurance doubly sure" to such end._ + +_From the days of the old_ Overland Monthly, _when she worked side by +side with Bret Harte and Charles Warren Stoddard, to the present moment, +Miss. Coolbrith's name has formed a part of the literary history of San +Francisco._ + +_The eighteenth of April, 1906, and the night which followed it, left +her bereft of all literary, and other, treasures; but her poem bearing +the refrain, "Lost city of my love and my desire," rings with the old +genius, and expresses the feeling of many made desolate by the +destruction of the city which held their most cherished memories._ + +_When Miss. Coolbrith shall no longer need to be a beneficiary of the +fund, it is intended that it shall serve to aid some other writer, +artist or musician whose fortunes are at the ebb._ + +_To the writers, artists and publishers who have so heartily and +generously made this book possible, The Spinners return unmeasured +thanks._ + +_San Francisco, June 22, 1907._ + + + + +CONCHA ARGÜELLO, SISTER DOMINICA + +BY + +GERTRUDE ATHERTON + +DEDICATED TO CAROLINA XIMÉNO + +Written for THE SPINNERS' BOOK OF FICTION _All Rights Reserved_ + + +SISTER TERESA had wept bitterly for two days. The vanity for which she +did penance whenever her madonna loveliness, consummated by the white +robe and veil of her novitiate, tempted her to one of the little mirrors +in the pupil's dormitory, was powerless to check the blighting flow. +There had been moments when she had argued that her vanity had its +rights, for had it not played its part in weaning her from the +world?--that wicked world of San Francisco, whose very breath, +accompanying her family on their monthly visits to Benicia, made her +cross herself and pray that all good girls whom fate had stranded there +should find the peace and shelter of Saint Catherine of Siena. It was +true that before Sister Dominica toiled up Rincon Hill on that wonderful +day--here her sobs became so violent that Sister María Sal, praying +beside her with a face as swollen as her own, gave her a sharp poke in +the ribs, and she pressed her hands to her mouth lest she be marched +away. But her thoughts flowed on; she could pray no more. Sister +Dominica, with her romantic history and holy life, her halo of fame in +the young country, and her unconquerable beauty--she had never seen such +eyelashes, never, never!--_what_ was she thinking of at such a time? +She had never believed that such divine radiance could emanate from any +mortal; never had dreamed that beauty and grace could be so enhanced by +a white robe and a black veil----Oh, well! Her mind was in a rebellious +mood; it had been in leash too long. And what of it for once in a way? +No ball dress she had ever seen in the gay disreputable little +city--where the good citizens hung the bad for want of law--was half as +becoming as the habit of the Dominican nun, and if it played a part in +weaning frivolous girls from the world, so much more to the credit of +Rome. God knew she had never regretted her flight up the bays, and even +had it not been for the perfidy of--she had forgotten his name; that at +least was dead!--she would have realized her vocation the moment Sister +Dominica sounded the call. When the famous nun, with that passionate +humility all her own, had implored her to renounce the world, protested +that her vocation was written in her face--she really looked like a +juvenile mater dolorosa, particularly when she rolled up her +eyes--eloquently demanded what alternative that hideous embryo of a city +could give her--that rude and noisy city that looked as if it had been +tossed together in a night after one of its periodical fires, where the +ill-made sidewalks tripped the unwary foot, or the winter mud was like a +swamp, where the alarm bell summoned the Vigilance Committee day and +night to protect or avenge, where a coarse and impertinent set of +adventurers stared at and followed an inoffensive nun who only left the +holy calm of the convent at the command of the Bishop to rescue brands +from the burning; then had Teresa, sick with the tragedy of youth, an +enchanting vision of secluded paths, where nuns--in white--walked with +downcast eyes and folded hands; of the daily ecstasy of prayer in the +convent chapel misty with incense. + +And in some inscrutable way Sister Dominica during that long +conversation, while Mrs. Grace and her other daughters dispensed egg-nog +in the parlor--it was New Year's Day--had made the young girl a part of +her very self, until Teresa indulged the fancy that without and within +she was a replica of that Concha Argüello of California's springtime; +won her heart so completely that she would have followed her not only +into the comfortable and incomparably situated convent of the saint of +Siena, but barefooted into that wilderness of Soledad where the Indians +still prayed for their lost "Beata." It was just eight months tonight +since she had taken her first vows, and she had been honestly aware that +there was no very clear line of demarcation in her fervent young mind +between her love of Sister Dominica and her love of God. Tonight, almost +prostrate before the coffin of the dead nun, she knew that so far at +least all the real passion of her youth had flowed in an undeflected +tide about the feet of that remote and exquisite being whose personal +charm alone had made a convent possible in the chaos that followed the +discovery of gold. All the novices, many of the older nuns, the pupils +invariably, worshipped Sister Dominica; whose saintliness without +austerity never chilled them, but whose tragic story and the impression +she made of already dwelling in a heaven of her own, notwithstanding +her sweet and consistent humanity, placed her on a pinnacle where any +display of affection would have been unseemly. Only once, after the +beautiful ceremony of taking the white veil was over, and Teresa's +senses were faint from incense and hunger, ecstasy and a new and +exquisite terror, Sister Dominica had led her to her cell and kissing +her lightly on the brow, exclaimed that she had never been happier in a +conquest for the Church against the vileness of the world. Then she had +dropped the conventional speech of her calling, and said with an +expression that made her look so young, so curiously virginal, that the +novice had held her breath: "Remember that here there is nothing to +interrupt the life of the imagination, nothing to change its course, +like the thousand conflicting currents that batter memory and character +to pieces in the world. In this monotonous round of duty and prayer the +mind is free, the heart remains ever young, the soul unspotted; so that +when----" She had paused, hesitated a moment, then abruptly left the +room, and Teresa had wept a torrent in her disappointment that this +first of California's heroines--whose place in history and romance was +assured--had not broken her reserve and told her all that story of many +versions. She had begged Sister María Sal--the sister of Luis Argüello's +first wife--to tell it her, but the old nun had reproved her sharply for +sinful curiosity and upon one occasion boxed her ears. But tonight she +might be in a softer mood, and Teresa resolved that when the last rites +were over she would make her talk of Concha Argüello. + +A few moments later she was lifted to her feet by a shaking but still +powerful arm. + +"Come!" whispered Sister María. "It is time to prepare. The others have +gone. It is singular that the oldest and the youngest should have loved +her best. Ay! Dios de mi alma! I never thought that Concha Argüello +would die. Grow old she never did, in spite of the faded husk. We will +look at her once more." + +The dead nun in her coffin lay in the little parlor where she had turned +so many wavering souls from fleeting to eternal joys. Her features, +wasted during years of delicate health, seemed to regain something of +their youth in the soft light of the candles. Or was it the long black +eyelashes that hid the hollows beneath the eyes?--or the faint +mysterious almost mocking smile? Had the spirit in its eternal youth +paused in its flight to stamp a last sharp impress upon the prostrate +clay? Never had she looked so virginal, and that had been one of the +most arresting qualities of her always remarkable appearance; but there +was something more--Teresa held her breath. Somehow, dead and in her +coffin, she looked less saintly than in life; although as pure and +sweet, there was less of heavenly peace on those marble features than of +some impassioned human hope. Teresa excitedly whispered her unruly +thoughts to Sister María, but instead of the expected reproof the old +nun lifted her shoulders. + +"Perhaps," she said. "Who knows?" + + * * * * * + +It was Christmas eve and all the inmates of the convent paused in their +sorrow to rejoice in the happy portent of the death and burial of one +whom they loyally believed to be no less entitled to beatification than +Catherine herself. Her miracles may not have been of the irreducible +protoplastic order, but they had been miracles to the practical +Californian mind, notwithstanding, and worthy of the attention of +consistory and Pope. Moreover, this was the season when all the vivacity +and gaiety of her youth had revived, and she made merry, not only for +the children left at the convent by their nomadic parents, but for all +the children of the town, whatever the faith of their somewhat anxious +elders. + +An hour after sundown they carried the bier on which her coffin rested +into the chapel. It was a solemn procession that none, taking part, was +likely to forget, and stirred the young hearts at least with an ecstatic +desire for a life as saintly as this that hardly had needed the crown of +death. + +Following the bier was the cross-bearer, holding the emblem so high it +was half lost in the shadows. Behind her were the young scholars dressed +in black, then the novices in their white robes and veils, carrying +lighted tapers to symbolize the eternal radiance that awaited the pure +in spirit. The nuns finished the procession that wound its way slowly +through the long ill-lighted corridors, chanting the litany of the dead. +From the chapel, at first almost inaudible, but waxing louder every +moment, came the same solemn monotonous chant; for the Bishop and his +assistants were already at the altar.... + +Teresa, from the organ loft, looked eagerly down upon the beautiful +scene, in spite of the exaltation that filled her: her artistic sense +was the one individuality she possessed. The chapel was aglow with the +soft radiance of many wax candles. They stood in high candelabra against +the somber drapery on the walls, and there were at least a hundred about +the coffin on its high catafalque before the altar; the Argüellos were +as prodigal as of old. About the catafalque was an immense mound of +roses from the garden of the convent, and palms and pampas from the +ranch of Santiago Argüello in the south. The black-robed scholars knelt +on one side of the dead, the novices on the other, the relatives and +friends behind. But art had perfected itself in the gallery above the +lower end of the chapel. This also was draped with black which seemed to +absorb, then shed forth again the mystic brilliance of the candles; and +kneeling, well apart, were the nuns in their ivory white robes and black +veils, their banded softened features as composed and peaceful as if +their own reward had come. + +The Bishop and the priests read the Requiem Mass, the little organ +pealed the _De Profundis_ as if inspired; and when the imperious +triumphant music of Handel followed, Teresa's fresh young soprano +seemed, to her excited imagination, to soar to the gates of heaven +itself. When she looked down again the lights were dim in the incense, +her senses swam in the pungent odor of spices and gum. The Bishop was +walking about the catafalque casting holy water with a brush against the +coffin above. He walked about a second time swinging the heavy copper +censer, then pronounced the _Requiescat in pace_, "dismissing," as we +find inscribed in the convent records, "a tired soul out of all the +storms of life into the divine tranquillity of death." + +The bier was again shouldered, the procession reformed, and marched, +still with lighted tapers and chanting softly, out into the cemetery of +the convent. It was a magnificent, clear night and as mild as spring. +Below the steep hill the little town of Benicia celebrated the eve of +Christmas with lights and noise. Beyond, the water sparkled like running +silver under the wide beams of the moon poised just above the peak of +Monte Diablo, the old volcano that towered high above this romantic and +beautiful country of water and tule lands, steep hillsides and canons, +rocky bluffs overhanging the straits. In spite of the faint discords +that rose from the town and the slow tolling of the convent bell, it was +a scene of lofty and primeval grandeur, a fit setting for the last +earthly scene of a woman whose lines had been cast in the wilderness, +but yet had found the calm and the strength and the peace of the old +mountain, with its dead and buried fires. + +The grave closed, the mourners returned to the convent, but not in +order. At the door Teresa felt her arm taken possession of by a strong +hand with which she had had more than one disconcerting encounter. + +"Let us walk," said Sister María Sal in her harsh but strong old voice. +"I have permission. I must talk of Concha tonight or I should burst. It +is not for nothing one keeps silent for years and years. I at least am +still human. And you loved her the best and have spoiled your pretty +face with weeping. You must not do that again, for the young love a +pretty nun and will follow her into the one true life on earth far +sooner than an ugly old phiz like mine." + +Sister María, indeed, retained not an index of the beauty with which +tradition accredited her youth. She was a stout unwieldy old woman with +a very red face covered half over with black down, and in the bright +moonlight Teresa could see the three long hairs that stood out straight +from a mole above her mouth and scratched the girls when she kissed +them. Tonight her nose was swollen and her eyes looked like appleseeds. +Teresa hastily composed her features and registered a vow that in her +old age she would look like Sister Dominica, not like that. She had +heard that Concha, too, had been frivolous in her youth, and had not she +herself a tragic bit of a story? True, her youthful love-tides had +turned betimes from the grave beside the Mission Dolores to the lovely +nun and the God of both, and she had heard that Doña Concha had proved +her fidelity to a wonderful Russian throughout many years before she +took the veil. Perhaps--who knew?--her more conformable pupil might have +restored the worthless to her heart before he was knifed in the full +light of day on Montgomery Street by one from whom he had won more than +thousands the night before; perhaps have consoled herself with another +less eccentric, had not Sister Dominica sought her at the right moment +and removed her from the temptations of the world. Well, never mind, she +could at least be a good nun and an amiable instructor of youth, and if +she never looked like a living saint she would grow soberer and nobler +with the years and take care that she grew not stout and red. + +For a time Sister María did not speak, but walked rapidly and heavily up +and down the path, dragging her companion with her and staring out at +the beauty of the night. But suddenly she slackened her pace and burst +into speech. + +"Ay yi! Ay de mi! To think that it is nearly half a century--forty-two +years to be precise--for will it not be 1858 in one more week?--since +Rezánov sailed out through what Frémont has called 'The Golden Gate'! +And forty-one in March since he died--not from the fall of a horse, as +Sir George Simpson (who had not much regard for the truth anyway, for he +gave a false picture of our Concha), and even Doctor Langsdorff, who +should have known better, wrote it, but worn out, worn out, after +terrible hardships, and a fever that devoured him inch by inch. And he +was so handsome when he left us! Dios de mi alma! never have I seen a +man like that. If I had I should not be here now, perhaps, so it is as +well. But never was I even engaged, and when permission came from Madrid +for the marriage of my sister Rafaella with Luis Argüello--he was an +officer and could not marry without a special license from the King, and +through some strange oversight he was six long years getting it--; well, +I lived with them and took care of the children until Rafaella--Ay yi! +what a good wife she made him, for he 'toed the mark,' as the Americans +say--; well, she died, and one of those days he married another; for +will not men be men? And Luis was a good man in spite of all, a fine +loyal clever man, who deserves the finest monument in the cemetery of +the Mission Dolores--as they call it now. The Americans have no respect +for anything and will not say San Francisco de Assisi, for it is too +long and they have time for nothing but the gold. Were it not a sin, +how I should hate them, for they have stolen our country from us--but +no, I will not; and, to be sure, if Rezánov had lived he would have had +it first, so what difference? Luis, at least, was spared. He died in +1830--and was the first Governor of Alta California after Mexico threw +off the yoke of Spain. He had power in full measure and went before +these upstart conquerors came to humble the rest of us into the dust. +Peace to his ashes--but perhaps you care nothing for this dear brother +of my youth, never heard of him before--such a giddy thing you were; +although at the last earthquake the point of his monument flew straight +into the side of the church and struck there, so you may have heard the +talk before they put it back in its place. It is of Sister Dominica you +think, but I think not only of her but of those old days--Ay, Dios de +mi! Who remembers that time but a few old women like myself? + +"Concha's father, Don José Dario Argüello, was Commandante of the +Presidio of San Francisco then; and there was nothing else to call San +Francisco but the Mission. Down at Yerba Buena, where the Americans +flaunt themselves, there was but a Battery that could not give even a +dance. But we had dances at the Presidio; day and night the guitar +tinkled and the fiddles scraped; for what did we know of care, or old +age, or convents or death? I was many years younger than Rafaella and +did not go to the grand balls, but to the little dances, yes, many and +many. When the Russians came--it was in 1806--I saw them every day, and +one night danced with Rezánov himself. He was so gay--ay de mi! I +remember he swung me quite off my feet and made as if he would throw me +in the air. I was angry that he should treat me like a baby, and then he +begged me so humbly to forgive him, although his eyes laughed, that of +course I did. He had come down from Sitka to try and arrange for a +treaty with the Spanish government that the poor men in the employ of +the Russian-American Company might have breadstuffs to eat and not die +of scurvy, nor toil through the long winter with no flesh on their +bones. He brought a cargo with him to exchange for our corn and flour +meanwhile. We had never seen any one so handsome and so grand and he +turned all our heads, but he had a hard time with the Governor and Don +José--there are no such Californians now or the Americans would never +have got us--and it took all his diplomacy and all the help Concha and +the priests could give him before he got his way, for there was a law +against trading with foreigners. It was only when he and Concha became +engaged that Governor Arillaga gave in--how I pick up vulgar expressions +from these American pupils, I who should reform them! And did I not +stand Ellen O'Reilley in the corner yesterday for calling San Francisco +'Frisco'?--_San Francisco de Assisi!_ But all the saints have fled from +California. + +"Where was I? Forgive an old woman's rambling, but I have not told +stories since Rafaella's children grew up, and that was many years ago. +What do I talk here? You know. And I that used to love to talk. Ay yi! +But no one can say that I am not a good nun. Bishop Alemany has said it +and no one knows better than he, the holy man. But for him I might be +sitting all day on a corridor in the south sunning myself like an old +crocodile, for we had no convent till he came eight years ago; and +perhaps but for Concha, whom I always imitated, I might have a dozen +brats of my own, for I was pretty and had my wooers and might have been +persuaded. And God knows, since I must have the care of children, I +prefer they should be mothered by some one else for then I have always +the hope to be rid of them the sooner. Well, well! I am not a saint yet, +and when I go to heaven I suppose Concha will still shake her finger at +me with a smile. Not that she was ever self-righteous, our Concha. Not a +bit of it. Only after that long and terrible waiting she just naturally +became a saint. Some are made that way and some are not. That is all. + +"Did I tell you about the two young lieutenants that came with Baron +Rezánov? Davidov and Khostov their names were. Well, well, I shall tell +all tonight. I was but fourteen, but what will you? Was I not, then, +Spanish? It was Davidov. He always left the older people to romp with +the children, although I think there was a flame in his heart for +Concha. Perhaps had I been older--who knows? Do not look at my whiskers! +That was forty-two years ago. Well, I dreamed of the fair kind young +Russian for many a night after he left, and when my time came to marry I +would look at none of the caballeros, but nursed Rafaella's babies and +thought my thoughts. And then--in 1815 I think it was--the good--and +ugly--Dr. Langsdorff sent Luis a copy of his book--he had been surgeon +to his excellency--and alas! it told of the terrible end of both those +gay kind young men. They were always too fond of brandy; we knew that, +but we never--well, hear me! One night not so many years after they +sailed away from California, they met Dr. Langsdorff and another friend +of their American days, Captain D'Wolf, by appointment in St. Petersburg +for a grand reunion. They were all so happy! Perhaps it was that made +them too much 'celebrate,' as the Americans say in their dialect. Well, +alas! they celebrated until four in the morning, and then my two dear +young Russians--for I loved Khostov as a sister, so devoted he was to my +friend--well, they started--on foot--for home, and that was on the other +side of the Neva. They had almost crossed the bridge when they suddenly +took it into their heads that they wanted to see their friends again, +and started back. Alas, in the middle of the bridge was a section that +opened to permit the passage of boats with tall masts. The night was +dark and stormy. The bridge was open. They did not see it. The river was +roaring and racing like a flood. A sailor saw them fall, and then strike +back for the coming boat. Then he saw them no more. That was the last of +my poor friends. + +"And we had all been so gay, so gay! For how could we know? All the +Russians said that never had they seen a people so light-hearted and +frolicking as the Californians, so hospitable, so like one great family. +And we were, we were. But you know of that time. Was not your mother +Conchitita Castro, if she did marry an American and has not taught you +ten words of Spanish? It is of Concha you would hear, and I ramble. +Well, who knows? perhaps I hesitate. Rezánov was of the Greek Church. No +priest in California would have married them even had Don José--_el +santo_ we called him--given his consent. It was for that reason Rezánov +went to obtain a dispensation from His Holiness and a license from the +King of Spain. Concha knew that he could not return for two years or +nearly that, nor even send her a letter; for why should ships come down +from Sitka until the treaty was signed? Only Rezánov could get what he +wanted, law or no law. And then too our Governor had forbidden the +British and Bostonians--so we called the Americans in those days--to +enter our ports. This Concha knew, and when one knows one can think in +storeys, as it were, and put the last at the top. It is not so bad as +the hope that makes the heart thump every morning and the eyes turn into +fountains at night. Dios! To think that I should ever have shed a tear +over a man. Chinchosas, all of them. However--I think Concha, who was +never quite as others, knew deep down in her heart that he would not +come back, that it was all too good to be true. Never was a man seen as +handsome as that one, and so clever--a touch of the devil in his +cleverness, but that may have been because he was a Russian. I know not. +And to be a great lady in St. Petersburg, and later--who can +tell?--vice-Tsarina of all this part of the world! No, it could not be. +It was a fairy tale. I only wonder that the bare possibility came into +the life of any woman,--and that a maiden of New Spain, in an unknown +corner, that might as well have been on Venus or Mars. + +"But Concha had character. She was not one to go into a +decline--although I am woman enough to know that her pillow was wet many +nights; and besides she lost the freshness of her beauty. She was often +as gay as ever, but she cared less and less for the dance, and found +more to do at home. Don José was made Commandante of the Santa Barbara +Company that same year, and it was well for her to be in a place where +there were no memories of Rezánov. But late in the following year as the +time approached for his return, or news of him, she could not contain +her impatience. We all saw it--I was visiting the Pachecos in the +Presidio of Santa Barbara. She grew so thin. Her eyes were never still. +We knew. And then!--how many times she climbed to the fortress--it was +on that high bluff beside the channel--and stared out to sea--when 1808 +and the Spring had come--for hours together: Rezánov was to return by +way of Mexico. Then, when I went back to San Francisco soon after, she +went with me, and again she would watch the sea from the summit of Lone +Mountain, as we call it now. In spite of her reason she hoped, I +suppose; for that is the way of women. Or perhaps she only longed for +the word from Sitka that would tell her the worst and have done with it. +Who knows? She never said, and we dared not speak of it. She was always +very sweet, our Concha, but there never was a time when you could take a +liberty with her. + +[Illustration: "SHE WAS ALWAYS VERY SWEET OUR CONCHA, +BUT THERE NEVER WAS A TIME WHEN YOU COULD TAKE A LIBERTY WITH HER." +FROM A PAINTING BY LILLIE V. O'RYAN.] + +"No ship came, but something else did--an earthquake! Ay yi, what an +earthquake that was! Not a _temblor_ but a _terremoto_. The whole +Presidio came down. I do not know now how we saved all the babies, +but we always flew to the open with a baby under each arm the moment an +earthquake began, and in the first seconds even this was not so bad. The +wall about the Presidio was fourteen feet high and seven feet thick and +there were solid trunks of trees crossed inside the adobe. It looked +like a heap of dirt, nothing more. Luis was riding up from the Battery +of Yerba Buena and his horse was flung down and he saw the sand-dunes +heaving toward him like waves in a storm and shiver like quicksilver. +And there was a roar as if the earth had dropped and the sea gone after. +Ay California! And to think that when Luis wrote a bitter letter to +Governor Arillaga in Monterey, the old Mexican wrote back that he had +felt earthquakes himself and sent him a box of dates for consolation! +Well--we slept on the ground for two months and cooked out-of-doors, for +we would not go even into the Mission--which had not suffered--until the +earthquakes were over; and if the worst comes first there are plenty +after--and, somehow, harder to bear. Perhaps to Concha that terrible +time was a God-send, for she thought no more of Rezánov for a while. If +the earthquake does not swallow your body it swallows your little self. +You are a flea. Just that and nothing more. + +"But after a time all was quiet again; the houses were rebuilt and +Concha went back to Santa Barbara. By that time she knew that Rezánov +would never come, although it was several years before she had a word. +Such stories have been told that she did not know of his death for +thirty years! Did not Baránhov, Chief-manager of the Russian-Alaskan +Company up there at Sitka, send Koskov--that name was so like!--to +Bodega Bay in 1812, and would he fail to send such news with him? Was +not Dr. Langsdorff's book published in 1814? Did not Kotzbue, who was on +his excellency's staff during the embassy to Japan, come to us in 1816, +and did we not talk with him every day for a month? Did not Rezánov's +death spoil all Russia's plans in this part of the world--perhaps, who +knows? alter the course of her history? It is likely we were long +without hearing the talk of the North! Such nonsense! Yes, she knew it +soon enough, but as that good Padre Abella once said to us, she had the +making of the saint and the martyr in her, and even when she could hope +no more she did not die, nor marry some one else, nor wither up and spit +at the world. Long before the news came, indeed, she carried out a plan +she had conceived, so Padre Abella told us, even while Rezánov was yet +here. There were no convents in California in those days--you may know +what a stranded handful we were--but she joined the Tertiary or Third +Order of Franciscans, and wore always the grey habit, the girdle, and +the cross. She went among the Indians christianizing them, remaining a +long while at Soledad, a bleak and cheerless place, where she was also a +great solace to the wives of the soldiers and settlers, whose children +she taught. The Indians called her 'La Beata,' and by that name she was +known in all California until she took the veil, and that was more than +forty years later. And she was worshipped, no less. So beautiful she +was, so humble, so sweet, and at the same time so practical; she had +what the Americans call 'hard sense,' and something of Rezánov's own +way of managing people. When she made up her mind to bring a sinner or a +savage into the Church she did it. You know. + +"But do not think she had her way in other things without a struggle. +Don José and Doña Ignacia--her mother--permitted her to enter upon the +religious life, for they understood; and Luis and Santiago made no +protest either, for they understood also and had loved Rezánov. But the +rest of her family, the relations, the friends, the young men--the +caballeros! They went in a body you might say to Don José and demanded +that Concha, the most beautiful and fascinating and clever girl in New +Spain, should come back to the world where she belonged,--be given in +marriage. But Concha had always ruled Don José, and all the protests +went to the winds. And William Sturgis--the young Bostonian who lived +with us for so many years? I have not told you of him, and your mother +was too young to remember. Well, never mind. He would have taken Concha +from California, given her just a little of what she would have had as +the wife of Rezánov--not in himself; he was as ugly as my whiskers; but +enough of the great world to satisfy many women, and no one could deny +that he was good and very clever. But to Concha he was a brother--no +more. Perhaps she did not even take the trouble to refuse him. It was a +way she had. After a while he went home to Boston and died of the +climate. I was very sorry. He was one of us. + +"And her intellect? Concha put it to sleep forever. She never read +another book of travel, of history, biography, memoirs, essays, +poetry--romance she had never read, and although some novels came to +California in time she never opened them. It was peace she wanted, not +the growing mind and the roving imagination. She brought her +conversation down to the level of the humblest, and perhaps--who +knows?--her thoughts. At all events, although the time came when she +smiled again, and was often gay when we were all together in the +family--particularly with the children, who came very fast, of +course--well, she was then another Concha, not that brilliant +dissatisfied ambitious girl we had all known, who had thought the +greatest gentleman from the Viceroy's court not good enough to throw +gold at her feet when she danced El Son. + +"There were changes in her life. In 1814 Don José was made Gobernador +Propietario of Lower California. He took all of his unmarried children +with him, and Concha thought it her duty to go. They lived in Loreto +until 1821. But Concha never ceased to pray that she might return to +California--we never looked upon that withered tongue of Mexico as +California; and when Don José died soon after his resignation, and her +mother went to live with her married daughters, Concha returned with the +greatest happiness she had known, I think, since Rezánov went. Was not +California all that was left her? + +"She lived in Santa Barbara for many years, in the house of Don José de +la Guerra--in that end room of the east wing. She had many relations, it +is true, but Concha was always human and liked relations better when she +was not surrounded by them. Although she never joined in any of the +festivities of that gay time she was often with the Guerra family and +seemed happy enough to take up her old position as Beata among the +Indians and children, until they built a school for her in Monterey. How +we used to wonder if she ever thought of Rezánov any more. From the day +the two years were over she never mentioned his name, and everybody +respected her reserve, even her parents. And she grew more and more +reserved with the years, never speaking of herself at all, except just +after her return from Mexico. But somehow we knew. And did not the very +life she had chosen express it? Even the Church may not reach the secret +places of the soul, and who knows what heaven she may have found in +hers? And now? I think purgatory is not for Concha, and he was not bad +as men go, and has had time to do his penance. It is true the Church +tells us there is no marrying in heaven--but, well, perhaps there is a +union for mated spirits of which the Church knows nothing. You saw her +expression in her coffin. + +"Well! The time arrived when we had a convent. Bishop Alemany came in +1850, and in the first sermon he preached in Santa Barbara--I think it +was his first in California--he announced that he wished to found a +convent. He was a Dominican, but one order was as another to Concha; she +had never been narrow in anything. As soon as the service was over, +before he had time to leave the church, she went to him and asked to be +the first to join. He was glad enough, for he knew of her and that no +one could fill his convent as rapidly as she. Therefore was she the +first nun, the first to take holy vows, in our California. For a +little, the convent was in the old Hartnell house in Monterey, but Don +Manuel Ximéno had built a great hotel while believing, with all the +rest, that Monterey would be the capital of the new California as of the +old, and he was glad to sell it to the Bishop. We were delighted--of +course I followed when Concha told me it was my vocation--that the +Americans preferred Yerba Buena. + +"Concha took her first vows in April, soon after the Bishop's arrival, +choosing the name Sister María, Dominica. On the 13th of April 1852 she +took the black veil and perpetual vows. Of course the convent had a +school at once. Concha's school had been a convent of a sort and the +Bishop merely took it over. All the flower of California have been +educated by Concha Argüello, including Chonita Estenega who is so great +a lady in Mexico today. Two years later we came here, and here we shall +stay, no doubt. I think Concha loved Benicia better than any part of +California she had known, for it was still California without too +piercing reminders of the past: life at the other Presidios and Missions +was but the counterpart of our San Francisco, and here the priests and +military had never come. In this beautiful wild spot where the elk and +the antelope and the deer run about like rabbits, and you meet a bear if +you go too far--Holy Mary!--where she went sometimes in a boat among the +tules on the river, and where one may believe the moon lives in a silver +lake in the old crater of Monte Diablo--Ay, it was different enough and +might bring peace to any heart. What she must have suffered for years +in those familiar scenes! But she never told. And now she lies here +under her little cross and he in Krasnoiarsk--under a stone shaped like +an altar, they say. Well! who knows? That is all. I go in now; my old +bones ache with the night damp. But my mind is lighter, although never I +shall speak of this again. And do you not think of it any more. +Curiosity and the world and such nonsense as love and romance are not +for us. Go to bed at once and tie a stocking round your throat that you +have not a frog in it tomorrow morning when you sing 'Glory be to God on +High.' _Buen Dias!_" + + + + +THE FORD OF CRÈVECOEUR + +BY + +MARY AUSTIN + +Reprinted from _Out West_ by permission. + + +YES. I understand; you are M'siu the Notary, M'siu the Sheriff has told +me. You are come to hear how by the help of God I have killed Filon +Geraud at the ford of Crèvecoeur. By the help of God, yes. Think you if +the devil had a hand in it, he would not have helped Filon? For he was +the devil's own, was Filon. He was big, he was beautiful, he had a +way--but always there was the devil's mark. I see that the first time +ever I knew him at Agua Caliente. The devil sit in Filon's eyes and +laugh--laugh--some time he go away like a man at a window, but he come +again. M'siu, he _live_ there! And Filon, he know that I see, so he make +like he not care; but I think he care a little, else why he make for +torment me all the time? Ever since I see him at that shearing at Agua +Caliente eight, ten year gone, he not like for let me be. I have been +the best shearer in that shed, snip--snip--quick, clean. Ah, it is +beautiful! All the sheepmen like for have me shear their sheep. Filon is +new man at that shearing, Lebecque is just hire him then; but yes, +M'siu, to see him walk about that Agua Caliente you think he own all +those sheep, all that range. Ah--he had a way! Pretty soon that day +Filon is hearing all sheepmen say that Raoul is the best shearer; then +he come lean on the rail by my shed and laugh softly like he talk with +himself, and say, "See the little man; see him shear." But me, I can no +more. The shears turn in my hand so I make my sheep all bleed same like +one butcher. Then I look up and see the devil in Filon Geraud's eye. It +is always so after that, all those years until I kill Filon. If I make a +little game of poker with other shepherds then he walks along and say: + +"Ah, you, Raoul, you is one sharp fellow. I not like for play with you." +Then is my play all gone bad. + +But if Filon play, then he say, "Come, you little man, and bring me the +good luck." + +It is so, M'siu! If I go stand by that game, Filon is win, win all the +time. That is because of the devil. And if there are women--no, M'siu, +there was never _one_ woman. What would a shepherd, whose work is always +toward the hills, do with a woman? Is it to plant a vineyard that others +may drink wine? Ah, non! But me, at shearings and at Tres Piños where we +pay the tax, there I like to talk to pretty girl same as other +shepherds, then Filon come make like he one gran' friend. All the time +he make say the compliments, he make me one mock. His eyes they laugh +always, that make women like to do what he say. But me, I have no +chance. + +It is so, M'siu, when I go out with my sheep. This is my trail--I go out +after the shearing through the Cañada de las Viñas, then across the +Little Antelope, while the grass is quick. After that I go up toward the +hills of Olancho, where I keep one month; there is much good feed and +no man comes. Also then I wait at Tres Piños for the sheriff that I pay +the tax. _Sacre_! it is a hard one, that tax! After that I am free of +the Sierras, what you call _Nieve_--snowy. Well I know that country. I +go about with my sheep and seek my meadows--_mine_, M'siu, that I have +climbed the great mountains to spy out among the pines, that I have +found by the grace of God, and my own wit: La Crevasse, Moultrie, +Bighorn, Angostura. Also, I go by other meadows where other shepherds +feed one month with another; but these _these_ are all _mine_. I go +about and come again when the feed is grown. + +M'siu, it is hard to believe, but it is so--Filon finds my meadows one +by one. One year I come by La Crevasse--there is nothing there; I go on +to Moultrie--here is the grass eaten to the roots, and the little pines +have no tops; at Bighorn is the fresh litter of a flock. I think maybe +my sheep go hungry that summer. So I come to Angostura. There is Filon. +He laugh. Then it come into my mind that one day I goin' kill that Filon +Geraud. By the help of God. Yes. For he is big that Filon, he is strong; +and me, M'siu, I am as God made me. + +So always, where I go on the range there is Filon; if I think to change +my trail, he change also his. If I have good luck, Filon has better. If +to him is the misfortune--ah--you shall hear. + +One year Gabriel Lausanne tell me that Filon is lose all his lambs in +the Santa Ana. You know that Santa Ana, M'siu? It is one mighty wind. It +comes up small, very far away, one little dust like the clouds, creep, +creep close by the land. It lies down along the sand; you think it is +done? Eh, it is one liar, that Santa Ana. It rise up again, it is pale +gold, it seek the sky. That sky is all wide, clean, no speck. Ah, it +knows, that sky; it will have nothing lying about when the Santa Ana +comes. It is hot then, you have the smell of the earth in your nostrils. +_That_, M'siu, is the Santa Ana. It is pale dust and the great push of +the wind. The sand bites, there is no seeing the flock's length. They +huddle, and the lambs are smothered; they scatter, and the dogs can +nothing make. If it blow one day, you thank God; if it blow two days, +then is sheepman goin' to lose his sheep. When Gabriel tell me that +about Filon, I think he deserve all that. What you think, M'siu? That +same night the water of Tinpah rise in his banks afar off by the hills +where there is rain. It comes roaring down the wash where I make my +camp, for you understand at that time of year there should be no water +in the wash of Tinpah, but it come in the night and carry away one-half +of my sheep. Eh, how you make that, M'siu; is it the devil or no? + +Well, it go like this eight, ten year; then it come last summer, and I +meet Filon at the ford of Crèvecoeur. That is the water that comes down +eastward from Mineral Mountain between Olancho and Sentinel Rock. It is +what you call Mineral Creek, but the French shepherds call it +Crèvecoeur. For why; it is a most swift and wide water; it goes darkly +between earthy banks upon which it gnaws. It has hot springs which come +up in it without reason, so that there is no safe crossing at any time. +Its sands are quick; what they take, they take wholly with the life in +it, and after a little they spew it out again. And, look you, it makes +no singing, this water of Crèvecoeur. Twenty years have I kept sheep +between Red Butte and the Temblor Hills, and I say this. Make no fear of +singing water, for it goes not too deeply but securely on a rocky +bottom; such a one you may trust. But this silent one, that is hot or +cold, deep or shallow, and has never its banks the same one season with +another, this you may not trust, M'siu. And to get sheep across +it--ah--it breaks the heart, this Crèvecoeur. + +Nevertheless, there is one place where a great rock runs slantwise of +the stream, but under it, so that the water goes shallowly with a +whisper, ah, so fast, and below it is a pool. Here on the rocks the +shepherds make pine logs to lie with stones so that the sheep cross +over. Every year the water carries the logs away and the shepherds build +again, and there is no shepherd goes by that water but lose some sheep. +Therefore, they call it the ford of Crèvecoeur [Break-heart]. + +Well, I have been about by the meadow of Angostura when it come last +July, and there I see Narcisse Duplin. He is tell me the feed is good +about Sentinel Rock, so I think me to go back by the way of Crèvecoeur. +There is pine wood all about eastward from that place. It is all shadow +there at midday and has a weary sound. Me, I like it not, that pine +wood, so I push the flock and am very glad when I hear toward the ford +the bark of dogs and the broken sound of bells. I think there is other +shepherd that make talk with me. But me, M'siu, _sacre! damn!_ when I +come out by the ford there is Filon Geraud. He has come up one side +Crèvecoeur, with his flock, as I have come up the other. He laugh. + +"Hillo, Raoul," say Filon, "will you cross?" + +"I will cross," say I. + +"After me," say Filon. + +"Before," say I. + +M'siu does not know about sheep? Ah, non. It is so that the sheep is +most scare of all beasts about water. Never so little a stream will he +cross, but if the dogs compel him. It is the great trouble of shepherds +to get the flock across the waters that go in and about the Sierras. For +that it is the custom to have two, three goats with the flocks to go +first across the water, then they will follow. But here at Crèvecoeur it +is bad crossing any way you go; also that day it is already afternoon. +Therefore I stand at one side that ford and make talk with Filon at the +other about who goes first. Then my goat which leads my flock come push +by me and I stand on that log while we talk. He is one smart goat. + +"Eh, Raoul, let the goats decide," cries Filon, and to that I have +agree. Filon push his goat on the log, he is one great black one that is +call Diable--I ask you is that a name for a goat? I have call mine Noé. +So they two walk on that log very still; for they see what they have to +do. Then they push with the head, Diable and Noé, till that log it rock +in the water; Filon is cry to his goat and I to mine. Then because of +that water one goat slip on the log, and the other is push so hard that +he cannot stop; over they go into the pool of swift water, over and over +until they come to the shallows; then they find their feet and come up, +each on his own side. They will not care to push with the heads again at +that time. Filon he walk out on the log to me, and I walk to him. + +"My goat have won the ford," says he. + +"Your goat cannot keep what he wins." + +"But I can," say Filon. Then he look at me with his eyes like--like I +have told you, M'siu. + +"Raoul," he say, "you is one little man." + +With that I remember me all the wrong I have had from this one. + +"Go you after your goat, Filon Geraud," say I. + +With that I put my staff behind his foot, so, M'siu, and send him into +the water, splash! He come to his feet presently in the pool with the +water all in his hair and his eyes, and the stream run strong and dark +against his middle. + +"Hey, you, Raoul, what for you do that?" he say, but also he laugh. "Ah, +ha, little man, you have the joke this time." + +M'siu, that laugh stop on his face like it been freeze, his mouth is +open, his eyes curl up. It is terrible, that dead laugh in the midst of +the black water that run down from his hair. + +"Raoul," he say, "_the sand is quick_!" + +Then he take one step, and I hear the sand suck. I see Filon shiver like +a reed in the swift water. + +"_My God_," he say, "_the sand is quick_!" + +M'siu, I do not know how it is with me. When I throw Filon in the pool, +I have not known it is quick-sand; but when I hear that, I think I am +glad. I kneel down by that log in the ford and watch Filon. He speak to +me very quiet: + +"You must get a rope and make fast to that pine and throw the end to me. +There is a rope in my pack." + +"Yes," say I, "there is a rope." + +So I take my flocks across the ford, since Filon is in the water, and +take all those silly ones toward La Crevasse, and after I think about +that business. Three days after, I meet P'tee Pete. I tell him I find +the sheep of Filon in the pine wood below Sentinel Rock. Pete, he say +that therefore Filon is come to some hurt, and that he look for him. +That make me scare lest he should look by the ford of Crèvecoeur. So +after that, five or six days, when Narcisse Duplin is come up with me, I +tell him Filon is gone to Sacramento where his money is; therefore I +keep care of his sheep. That is a better tale--eh, M'siu,--for I have to +say something. Every shepherd in that range is know those sheep of +Filon. All this time I think me to take the sheep to Pierre Jullien in +the meadow of Black Mountain. He is not much, that Pierre. If I tell him +it is one gift from _Le bon Dieu_, that is explain enough for Pierre +Jullien. Then I will be quit of the trouble of Filon Geraud. + +So, M'siu, would it have been, but for that dog Helène. That is Filon's +she-dog that he raise from a pup. She is--she is _une femme_, that dog! +All that first night when we come away from the ford, she cry, cry in +her throat all through the dark, and in the light she look at me with +her eyes, so to say: + +"I know, Raoul! I know what is under the water of Crèvecoeur." M'siu, is +a man to stand that from a dog? So the next night I beat her, and in the +morning she is gone. I think me the good luck to get rid of her. That +Helène! M'siu, what you think she do? She have gone back to look in the +water for Filon. There she stay, and all sheepmen when they pass that +way see that she is a good sheepdog, and that she is much hungry; so +they wonder that she will not leave off to look and go with them. After +while all people in those parts is been talkin' about that dog of +Filon's that look so keen in the water of Crèvecoeur. Mebbe four, five +weeks after that I have killed Filon, one goes riding by that place and +sees Helène make mourn by the waterside over something that stick in the +sand. It is Filon. Yes. That quick-sand have spit him out again. So you +say; but me, I think it is the devil. + +For the rest the sheriff has told you. Here they have brought me, and +there is much talk. Of that I am weary, but for this I tell you all how +it is about Filon; M'siu, I would not hang. Look you, so long as I stay +in this life I am quit of that man, but if I die--there is Filon. So +will he do unto me all that I did at the ford of Crèvecoeur, and more; +for he is a bad one, Filon. Therefore it is as I tell you, M'siu, I, +Raoul. By the help of God. Yes. + + + + +A CALIFORNIAN + +BY + +GERALDINE BONNER + +From _Harper's Magazine_ _Copyright_, 1905, by Harper and Brothers + + +IT WAS nearly ten o'clock when Jack Faraday ascended the steps of Madame +Delmonti's bow-windowed mansion and pressed the electric bell. He was a +little out of breath and nervous, for, being young and a stranger to San +Francisco, and almost a stranger to Madame Delmonti, he did not exactly +know at what hour his hostess's _conversazione_ might begin, and had +upon him the young man's violent dread of being conspicuously early or +conspicuously late. + +It did not seem that he was either. As he stood in the doorway and +surveyed the field, he felt, with a little rising breath of relief, that +no one appeared to take especial notice of him. Madame Delmonti's rooms +were lit with a great blaze of gas, which, thrown back from many long +mirrors and the gold mountings of a quantity of furniture and picture +frames, made an effect of dazzling yellow brightness, as brilliantly +glittering as the transformation scene of a pantomime. + +In the middle of the glare Madame Delmonti's company had disposed +themselves in a circle, which had some difficulty in accommodating +itself to the long narrow shape of the drawing-room. Now and then an +obstinate sofa or extra large plush-covered arm-chair broke the +harmonious curve of the circle, and its occupant looked furtively ill at +ease, as if she felt the embarrassment of her position in not conforming +to the general harmony of the curving line. + +The eyes of the circle were fixed on a figure at the piano, near the end +of the room--a tall dark Jewess in a brown dress and wide hat, who was +singing with that peculiar vibrant richness of tone that is so often +heard in the voices of the Californian Jewesses. She was perfectly +self-possessed, and her velvet eyes, as her impassioned voice rose a +little, rested on Jack Faraday with a cheerful but not very lively +interest. Then they swept past him to where on a sofa, quite out of the +circle, two women sat listening. + +One was a young girl, large, well-dressed, and exceedingly handsome; the +other a peaked lady, passée and thin, with her hair bleached to a canary +yellow. The Jewess, still singing, smiled at them, and the girl gave +back a lazy smile in return. Then as the song came to a deep and mellow +close, Madame Delmonti, with a delicate rustling of silk brushing +against silk, swept across the room and greeted her guest. + +Madame Delmonti was an American, very rich, a good deal made up, but +still pretty, and extremely well preserved. Signor Delmonti, an Italian +baritone, whom she had married, and supported ever since, was useful +about the house, as he now proved by standing at a little table and +ladling punch into small glasses, which were distributed among the +guests by the two little Delmonti girls in green silk frocks. Madame +Delmonti, with her rouged cheeks and merry grey eyes, as full of sparkle +as they had been twenty years ago, was very cordial to her guest, asking +him, as they stood in the doorway, whom he would best like to meet. + +"Maud Levy, who has been singing," she said, "is one of the belles in +Hebrew society. She has a fine voice. You have no objection, Mr. +Faraday, to knowing Jews?" + +Faraday hastily disclaimed all race prejudices, and she continued, +discreetly designating the ladies on the sofa: + +"There are two delightful girls. Mrs. Peck, the blonde, is the society +writer for the _Morning Trumpet_. She is an elegant woman of a very fine +Southern family, but she has had misfortunes. Her marriage was unhappy. +She and Peck are separated now, and she supports herself and her two +children. There was no hope of getting alimony out of that man." + +"And that is Genevieve Ryan beside her," Madame Delmonti went on. "I +think you'd like Genevieve. She's a grand girl. Her father, you know, is +Barney Ryan, one of our millionaires. He made his money in a quick turn +in Con. Virginia, but before that he used to drive the Marysville coach, +and he was once a miner. He's crazy about Genevieve and gives her five +hundred a month to dress on. I'm sure you'll get on very well together. +She's such a refined, pleasant girl"----and Madame Delmonti, chattering +her praises of Barney Ryan's handsome daughter, conducted the stranger +to the shrine. + +Miss. Genevieve smiled upon him, much as she had upon the singer, and +brushing aside her skirts of changeable green and heliotrope silk, +showed him a little golden-legged chair beside her. Mrs. Peck and Madame +Delmonti conversed with unusual insight and knowledge on the singing of +Maud Levy, and Faraday was left to conduct the conversation with the +heiress of Barney Ryan. + +She was a large, splendid-looking girl, very much corseted, with an +ivory-tinted skin, eyes as clear as a young child's and smooth freshly +red lips. She was a good deal powdered on the bridge of her nose, and +her rich hair was slightly tinted with some reddish dye. She was a +picture of health and material well being. Her perfectly fitting clothes +sat with wrinkleless exactitude over a figure which in its generous +breadth and finely curved outline might have compared with that of the +Venus of Milo. She let her eyes, shadowed slightly by the white lace +edge of her large hat, whereon two pink roses trembled on large stalks, +dwell upon Faraday with a curious and frank interest entirely devoid of +coquetry. Her manner, almost boyish in its simple directness, showed the +same absence of this feminine trait. While she looked like a goddess +dressed by Worth, she seemed merely a good-natured, phlegmatic girl just +emerging from her teens. + +Faraday had made the first commonplaces of conversation, when she asked, +eyeing him closely, "Do you like it out here?" + +"Oh, immensely," he responded, politely. "It's such a fine climate." + +"It is a good climate," admitted Miss. Ryan, with unenthusiastic +acquiescence; "but we are not so proud of that as we are of the good +looks of the Californian women. Don't you think the women are handsome?" + +Faraday looked into her clear and earnest eyes. + +"Oh splendid," he answered, "especially their eyes." + +Miss. Ryan appeared to demur to this commendation. "It's generally said +by strangers that their figures are unusually handsome. Do you think +they are?" + +Faraday agreed to this too. + +"The girls in the East," said Miss. Ryan, sitting upright with a +creaking sound, and drawing her gloves through one satin-smooth, +bejeweled hand, "are very thin, aren't they? Here, I sometimes +think"--she raised her eyes to his in deep and somewhat anxious +query--"that they are too fat?" + +Faraday gallantly scouted the idea. He said the California woman was a +goddess. For the first time in the interview Miss. Ryan gave a little +laugh. + +"That's what all you Eastern men say," she said. "They're always telling +me I'm a goddess. Even the Englishmen say that." + +"Well," answered Faraday, surprised at his own boldness, "what they say +is true." + +Miss. Ryan silently eyed him for a speculating moment; then, averting +her glance, said, pensively: "Perhaps so; but I don't think it's so +stylish to be a goddess as it is to be very slim. And then, you +know----" Here she suddenly broke off, her eyes fixed upon the crowd of +ladies that blocked an opposite doorway in exeunt. "There's mommer. I +guess she must be going home, and I suppose I'd better go too, and not +keep her waiting." + +She rose as she spoke, and with a pat of her hand adjusted her +glimmering skirts. + +"Oh, Mr. Faraday," she said, as she peered down at them, "I hope you'll +give yourself the pleasure of calling on me. I'm at home almost any +afternoon after five, and Tuesday is my day. Come whenever you please. +I'll be real glad to see you, and I guess popper'd like to talk to you +about things in the East. He's been in Massachusetts too." + +She held out her large white hand and gave Faraday a vigorous +hand-shake. + +"I'm glad I came here tonight," she said, smiling. "I wasn't quite +decided, but I thought I'd better, as I had some things to tell Mrs. +Peck for next Sunday's _Trumpet_. If I hadn't come, I wouldn't have met +you. You needn't escort me to Madame Delmonti. I'd rather go by myself. +I'm not a bit a ceremonious person. Good-by. Be sure and come and see +me." + +She rustled away, exchanged farewells with Madame Delmonti, and, by a +movement of her head in his direction, appeared to be speaking of +Faraday; then joining a fur-muffled female figure near the doorway, +swept like a princess out of the room. + +For a week after Faraday's meeting with Miss. Genevieve Ryan, he had no +time to think of giving himself the pleasure of calling upon that fair +and flattering young lady. The position which he had come out from +Boston to fill was not an unusually exacting one, but Faraday, who was +troubled with a New England conscience, and a certain slowness in +adapting himself to new conditions of life, was too engrossed in +mastering the duties of his clerkship to think of loitering about the +chariot wheels of beauty. + +By the second week, however, he had shaken down into the new rut, and a +favorable opportunity presenting itself in a sunny Sunday afternoon, he +donned his black coat and high hat and repaired to the mansion of Barney +Ryan, on California Street. + +When Faraday approached the house, he felt quite timid, so imposingly +did this great structure loom up from the simpler dwellings which +surrounded it. Barney Ryan had built himself a palace, and ever since +the day he had first moved into it he had been anxious to move out. The +ladies of his family would not allow this, and so Barney endured his +grandeur as best he might. It was a great wooden house, with immense bay +windows thrown out on every side, and veiled within by long curtains of +heavy lace. The sweep of steps that spread so proudly from the portico +was flanked by two sleeping lions in stone, both appearing, by the +savage expressions which distorted their visages, to be suffering from +terrifying dreams. In the garden the spiked foliage of the dark, slender +dracænas and the fringed fans of giant filamentosas grew luxuriantly +with tropical effect. + +The large drawing-room, long, and looking longer with its wide mirrors, +was even more golden than Mrs. Delmonti's. There were gold moldings +about the mirrors and gold mountings to the chairs. In deserts of gold +frames appeared small oases of oil-painting. Faraday, hat in hand, stood +some time in wavering indecision, wondering in which of the brocaded and +gilded chairs he would look least like a king in an historical play. He +was about to decide in favor of a pale blue satin settee, when a rustle +behind him made him turn and behold Miss. Genevieve magnificent in a +trailing robe of the faintest rose-pink and pearls, with diamond +ear-rings in her ears, and the powder that she had hastily rubbed on her +face still lying white on her long lashes. She smiled her rare smile as +she greeted him, and sitting down in one of the golden chairs, leaned +her head against the back, and said, looking at him from under lowered +lids: + +"Well, I thought you were never coming!" + +Faraday, greatly encouraged by this friendly reception, made his +excuses, and set the conversation going. After the weather had been +exhausted, the topic of the Californian in his social aspect came up. +Faraday, with some timidity, ventured a question on the fashionable life +in San Francisco. A shade passed over Miss. Ryan's open countenance. + +"You know, Mr. Faraday," she said, explanatorily, "I'm not exactly in +society." + +"No?" murmured Faraday, mightily surprised, and wondering what she was +going to say next. + +"Not exactly," continued Miss. Ryan, moistening her red under lip in a +pondering moment--"not exactly in fash'nable society. Of course we have +our friends. But gentlemen from the East that I've met have always been +so surprised when I told them that I didn't go out in the most +fash'nable circles. They always thought any one with money could get +right in it here." + +"Yes?" said Faraday, whose part of the conversation appeared to be +deteriorating into monosyllables. + +"Well, you know, that's not the case at all. With all popper's money, +we've never been able to get a real good footing. It seems funny to +outsiders, especially as popper and mommer have never been divorced or +anything. We've just lived quietly right here in the city always. But," +she said, looking tentatively at Faraday to see how he was going to take +the statement, "my father's a Northerner. He went back and fought in the +war." + +"You must be very proud of that," said Faraday, feeling that he could +now hazard a remark with safety. + +This simple comment, however, appeared to surprise the enigmatic Miss. +Ryan. + +"Proud of it?" she queried, looking in suspended doubt at Faraday. "Oh, +of course I'm proud that he was brave, and didn't run away or get +wounded; but if he'd been a Southerner we would have been in society +now." She looked pensively at Faraday. "All the fashionable people are +Southerners, you know. We would have been, too, if we'd have been +Southerners. It's being Northerners that really has been such a +drawback." + +"But your sympathies," urged Faraday, "aren't they with the North?" + +Miss. Ryan ran the pearl fringe of her tea-gown through her large, +handsome hands. "I guess so," she said, indifferently, as if she was +considering the subject for the first time; "but you can't expect me to +have any very violent sympathies about a war that was dead and buried +before I was born." + +"I don't believe you're a genuine Northerner, or Southerner either," +said Faraday, laughing. + +"I guess not," said the young lady, with the same placid indifference. +"An English gentleman whom I knew real well last year said the sympathy +of the English was all with the Southerners. He said they were the most +refined people in this country. He said they were thought a great deal +of in England?" She again looked at Faraday with her air of deprecating +query, as if she half expected him to contradict her. + +"Who was this extraordinarily enlightened being?" asked Faraday. + +"Mr. Harold Courtney, an elegant Englishman. They said his grandfather +was a Lord--Lord Hastings--but you never can be sure about those things. +I saw quite a good deal of him, and I sort of liked him, but he was +rather quiet. I think if he'd been an American we would have thought him +dull. Here they just said it was reserve. We all thought----" + +A footstep in the hall outside arrested her recital. The door of the +room was opened, and a handsome bonneted head appeared in the aperture. + +"Oh, Gen," said this apparition, hastily--"excuse me; I didn't know you +had your company in there?" + +"Come in, mommer," said Miss. Ryan, politely; "I want to make you +acquainted with Mr. Faraday. He's the gentleman I met at Madame +Delmonti's the other evening." + +Mrs. Ryan, accompanied by a rich rustling of silk, pushed open the door, +revealing herself to Faraday's admiring eyes as a fine-looking woman, +fresh in tint, still young, of a stately figure and imposing presence. +She was admirably dressed in a walking costume of dark green, and wore a +little black jet bonnet on her slightly waved bright brown hair. She met +the visitor with an extended hand and a frank smile of open pleasure. + +"Genevieve spoke to me of you, Mr. Faraday," she said, settling down +into a chair and removing her gloves. "I'm very glad you managed to get +around here." + +Faraday expressed his joy at having been able to accomplish the visit. + +"We don't have so many agreeable gentlemen callers," said Mrs. Ryan, +"that we can afford to overlook a new one. If you've been in society, +you've perhaps noticed, Mr. Faraday, that gentlemen are somewhat +scarce." + +Faraday said he had not been in society, therefore had not observed the +deficiency. Mrs. Ryan, barely allowing him time to complete his +sentence, continued, vivaciously: + +"Well, Mr. Faraday, you'll see it later. We entertainers don't know what +we are going to do for the lack of gentlemen. When we give parties we +ask the young gentlemen, and they all come; but they won't dance, they +won't talk, they won't do anything but eat and drink and they never +think of paying their party calls. It's disgraceful, Mr. Faraday," said +Mrs. Ryan, smiling brightly--"disgraceful!" + +Faraday said he had heard that in the East the hostess made the same +complaint. Mrs. Ryan, with brilliant fixed eyes, gave him a +breathing-space to reply in, and then started off again, with a +confirmatory nod of her head: + +"Precisely, Mr. Faraday--just the case here. At Genevieve's début +party--an elegant affair--Mrs. Peck said she'd never seen a finer +entertainment in this city--canvas floors, four musicians, champagne +flowing like water. My husband, Mr. Faraday believes in giving the best +at his entertainments; there's not a mean bone in Barney Ryan's body. +Why, the men all got into the smoking-room, lit their cigars, and smoked +there, and in the ballroom were the girls sitting around the walls, and +not more than half a dozen partners for them. I tell you, Mr. Ryan was +mad. He just went up there, and told them to get up and dance or get up +and go home----he didn't much care which. There's no fooling with Mr. +Ryan when he's roused. You remember how mad popper was that night, Gen?" + +Miss. Ryan nodded an assent, her eyes full of smiling reminiscence. She +had listened to her mother's story with unmoved attention and evident +appreciation. "Next time we have a party," she said, looking smilingly +at Faraday, "Mr. Faraday can come and see for himself." + +"I guess it'll be a long time before we have another like that," said +Mrs. Ryan, somewhat grimly, rising as Faraday rose to take his leave. +"Not but what," she added, hastily, fearing her remark had seemed +ungracious, "we'll hope Mr. Faraday will come without waiting for +parties." + +"But we've had one since then," said Miss. Ryan, as she placed her hand +in his in the pressure of farewell, "that laid all over that first one." + +Having been pressed to call by both mother and daughter, and having told +himself that Genevieve Ryan was "an interesting study," Faraday, after +some hesitation, paid a second visit to the Ryan mansion. Upon this +occasion the Chinese servant, murmuring unintelligibly, showed a rooted +aversion to his entering. Faraday, greatly at sea, wondering vaguely if +the terrible Barney Ryan had issued a mandate to his hireling to refuse +him admittance, was about to turn and depart, when the voice of Mrs. +Ryan in the hall beyond arrested him. Bidden to open the door, the +Mongolian reluctantly did so and Faraday was admitted. + +"Sing didn't want to let you in," said Mrs. Ryan when they had gained +the long gold drawing-room, "because Genevieve was out. He never lets +any gentlemen in when she's not at home. He thinks I'm too old to have +them come to see me." + +Then they sat down, and after a little preliminary chat on the Chinese +character and the Californian climate, Mrs. Ryan launched forth into her +favorite theme of discourse. + +"Genevieve will be so sorry to miss you," she said; "she's always so +taken by Eastern gentlemen. They admire her, too, immensely. I can't +tell you of the compliments we've heard directly and indirectly that +they've paid her. Of course I can see that she's an unusually +fine-looking girl, and very accomplished. Mr. Ryan and I have spared +nothing in her education--nothing. At Madame de Vivier's academy for +young ladies--one of the most select in the State--Madame's husband's +one of the French nobility, and she always had to support him--Genevieve +took every extra--music, languages, and drawing. Professor Rodriguez, +who taught her the guitar, said that never outside of Spain had he heard +such a touch. 'Señora,' he says to me--that's his way of expressing +himself, and it sounds real cute the way he says it--'Señora, is there +not some Spanish blood in this child? No one without Spanish blood +could touch the strings that way.' Afterwards when Demaroni taught her +the mandolin, it was just the same. He could not believe she had not had +teaching before. Then Madame Mezzenott gave her a term's lessons on the +bandurria, and she said there never was such talent; she might have made +a fortune on the concert stage." + +"Yes, undoubtedly," Faraday squeezed in, as Mrs. Ryan drew a breath. + +"Indeed, Mr. Faraday, everybody has remarked her talents. It isn't you +alone. All the Eastern gentlemen we have met have said that the musical +talents of the Californian young ladies were astonishing They all agree +that Genevieve's musical genius is remarkable. Everybody declares that +there is no one--not among the Spaniards themselves--who sings _La +Paloma_ as Gen does. Professor Spighetti instructed her in that. He was +a wonderful teacher. I never saw such a method. But we had to give him +up because he fell in love with Gen. That's the worst of it--the +teachers are always falling in love with her; and with her prospects and +position we naturally expect something better. Of course it's been very +hard to keep her. I say to Mr. Ryan, as each winter comes to an end, +'Well, popper, another season's over and we've still got our Gen.' We +feel that we can't be selfish and hope to keep her always, and, with so +many admirers, we realize that we must soon lose her, and try to get +accustomed to the idea." + +"Of course, of course," murmured Faraday, sympathetically, mentally +picturing Mrs. Ryan keeping away the suitors as Rizpah kept the eagles +and vultures off her dead sons. + +"There was a Mr. Courtney who was very attentive last year. His +grandfather was an English lord. We had to buy a _Peerage_ to find out +if he was genuine, and, as he was, we had him quite often to the house. +He paid Genevieve a good deal of attention, but toward the end of the +season he said he had to go back to England and see his grandfather--his +father was dead--and left without saying anything definite. He told me +though, that he was coming back. I fully expect he will, though Mr. Ryan +doesn't seem to think so. Genevieve felt rather put out about it for a +time. She thought he hadn't been upright to see her so constantly and +not say anything definite. But she doesn't understand the subserviency +of Englishmen to their elders. You know, we have none of that in this +country. If my son Eddie wanted to marry a typewriter, Mr. Ryan could +never prevent it. I fully expect to see Mr. Courtney again. I'd like you +to meet him, Mr. Faraday. I think you'd agree very well. He's just such +a quiet, reserved young man as you." + +When, after this interview, Faraday descended the broad steps between +the sleeping lions, he did not feel so good-tempered as he had done +after his first visit. He recalled to mind having heard that Mrs. Ryan, +before her marriage, had been a schoolteacher, and he said to himself +that if she had no more sense then than she had now, her pupils must +have received a fearful and wonderful education. + +At Madame Delmonti's _conversazione_, given a few evenings later, +Faraday again saw Miss. Ryan. On the first of these occasions this +independent young lady was dressed simply in a high-necked gown and a +hat. This evening with her habitual disregard of custom and convention, +some whim had caused her to array herself in full gala attire, and, +habited in a gorgeous costume of white silk and yellow velvet, with a +glimmer of diamonds round the low neck, she was startling in her large +magnificence. + +Jack Faraday approached her somewhat awe-stricken, but her gravely +boyish manner immediately put him at his ease. Talking with her over +commonplaces, he wondered what she would say if she knew of her mother's +conversation with him. As if in answer to the unspoken thought, she +suddenly said fixing him with intent eyes: + +"Mommer said she told you of Mr. Courtney. Do you think he'll come +back?" + +Faraday, his breath taken away by the suddenness of the attack, felt the +blood run to his hair, and stammered a reply. + +"Well, you know," she said, leaning toward him confidentially, "I +_don't_. Mommer is possessed with the idea that he will. But neither +popper nor I think so. I got sort of annoyed with the way he +acted--hanging about for a whole winter, and then running away to see +his grandfather, like a little boy ten years old! I like men that are +their own masters. But I suppose I would have married him. You see, he +would have been a lord when his grandfather died. It was genuine--we saw +it in the _Peerage_." + +She looked into Faraday's eyes. Her own were as clear and deep as +mountain springs. Was Miss. Genevieve Ryan the most absolutely honest +and outspoken young woman that had ever lived, or was she some subtle +and unusual form of Pacific Slope coquette? + +"Popper was quite mad about it," she continued. "He thought Mr. Courtney +was an ordinary sort of person, anyway. I didn't. I just thought him +dull, and I suppose he couldn't help that. Mommer wanted to go over to +England last summer. She thought we might stumble on him over there. But +popper wouldn't let her do it. He sent us to Alaska instead." She +paused, and gave a smiling bow to an acquaintance. "Doesn't Mrs. Peck +look sweet tonight?" She designated the society editress of the _Morning +Trumpet_, whose fragile figure was encased in a pale blue Empire +costume. "And that lady over by the door, with the gold crown in her +hair, the stout one in red, is Mrs. Wheatley, a professional Delsarte +teacher. She's a great friend of mine and gives me Delsarte twice a +week." + +And Miss. Genevieve Ryan nodded to the dispenser of "Delsarte," a large +and florid woman, who, taking her stand under a spreading palm tree, +began to declaim "The Portrait" of Owen Meredith, and in the recital of +the dead lady's iniquitous conduct the conversation was brought to a +close. + +From its auspicious opening, Faraday's acquaintance with the Ryans +ripened and developed with a speed which characterizes the growth of +friendship and of fruit in the genial Californian atmosphere. Almost +before he felt that he had emerged from the position of a stranger he +had slipped into that of an intimate. He fell into the habit of visiting +the Ryan mansion on California Street on Sunday afternoons. It became a +custom for him to dine there _en famille_ at least once a week. The +simplicity and light-hearted good-nature of these open-handed and +kindly people touched and charmed him. There was not a trace of the snob +in Faraday. He accepted the lavish and careless hospitality of Barney +Ryan's "palatial residence," as the newspapers delighted to call it, +with a spirit as frankly pleased as that in which it was offered. + +He came of an older civilization than that which had given Barney Ryan's +daughter her frankness and her force, and it did not cross his mind that +the heiress of millions might cast tender eyes upon the penniless sons +of New England farmers. He said to himself with impatient recklessness +that he ought not to and would not fall in love with her. There was too +great a distance between them. It would be King Cophetua and the +beggar-maid reversed. Clerks at one hundred and fifty dollars a month +were not supposed to aspire to only daughters of bonanza kings in the +circle from which Faraday had come. So he visited the Ryans, assuring +himself that he was a friend of the family, who would dance at Miss +Genevieve's wedding with the lightest of hearts. + +The Chinese butler had grown familiar with Faraday's attractive +countenance and his unabbreviated English, when late one warm and sunny +afternoon the young man pulled the bell of the great oaken door of the +Ryans' lion-guarded home. In answer to his queries for the ladies, he +learned that they were out; but the Mongolian functionary, after +surveying him charily through the crack of the door, admitted that Mr. +Ryan was within, and conducted the visitor into his presence. + +Barney Ryan, suffering from a slight sprain in his ankle, sat at ease in +a little sitting-room in the back of the house. Mr. Ryan, being +irritable and in some pain, the women-folk had relaxed the severity of +their dominion, and allowed him to sit unchecked in his favorite costume +for the home circle--shirt sleeves and a tall beaver hat. Beside him on +the table stood bare and undecorated array of bottles, a glass, and a +silver water-pitcher. + +Mr. Ryan was now some years beyond sixty, but had that tremendous vigor +of frame and constitution that distinguished the pioneers--an attribute +strangely lacking in their puny and degenerate sons. This short and +chunky old man, with his round, thick head, bristling hair and beard, +and huge red neck, had still a fiber as tough as oak. He looked coarse, +uncouth, and stupid, but in his small gray eyes shone the alert and +unconquerable spirit which marked the pioneers as the giants of the +West, and which had carried him forward over every obstacle to the +summit of his ambitions. Barney Ryan was restless in his confinement; +for, despite his age and the completeness of his success, his life was +still with the world of men where the bull-necked old miner was a king. +At home the women rather domineered over him, and unconsciously made him +feel his social deficiencies. At home, too, the sorrow and the pride of +his life were always before him--his son, a weak and dissipated boy; and +his daughter, who had inherited his vigor and his spirit with a beauty +that had descended to her from some forgotten peasant girl of the Irish +bogs. + +Faraday, with his power of listening interminably, and his intelligent +comments, was a favorite of old Ryan's. He greeted him with a growling +welcome; and then, civilities being interchanged, called to the +Chinaman for another glass. This menial, rubbing off the long mirrors +that decorated the walls, would not obey the mandate till it had been +roared at him by the wounded lion in a tone which made the chandelier +rattle. + +"I never can make those infernal idiots understand me," said old Ryan, +plaintively. "They won't do a thing I tell them. It takes the old lady +to manage 'em. She makes them skip." + +Then after some minutes of discourse on more or less uninteresting +matters, the weary old man, glad of a listener, launched forth into +domestic topics. + +"Gen and the old lady are out buying new togs. I got a letter here +that'll astonish them when they get back. It's from that English cuss, +Courtney. D'ye ever hear about him? He was hanging about Genevieve all +last winter. And this letter says he's coming back, that his +grandfather's dead, and he's a lord now, and he's coming back. Do you +mind that now, Faraday?" he said, looking with eyes full of humor at the +young man. + +Faraday expressed a sharp surprise. + +"You know, Jack," continued the old man, "we're trained up to having +these high-priced Englishmen come out here and eat our dinners, and +sleep in our spare rooms, and drink our wines and go home, and when they +meet us there forget they've ever seen us before; but we ain't trained +up to havin' 'em come back this way, and it's hard to get accustomed to +it." + +"It's not surprising," said Faraday, coldly. + +"I'm not so dead sure of that. But I can tell you the old lady'll be +wild about this." + +"Does Mrs. Ryan like him so much?" said the visitor, still coldly. + +"All women like a lord, and Mrs. Ryan ain't different from the rest of +her sex. She's dead stuck on Gen marrying him. I'm not myself, Jack. I'm +no Anglomaniac; an American's good enough for me. I'm not spoiling to +see my money going to patch up the roof of the ancestral castle of the +Courtneys, or pay their ancestral debts--not by a long chalk." + +"Do you think he's coming back to borrow money from you to pay off the +ancestral debts?" asked Faraday. + +"Not to borrow, Jack. Oh no, not to borrow--to get it for keeps--it, and +Genevieve with it. And I don't just see how I'm to prevent it. Gen don't +seem to care much, but the old lady's got it on her mind that she'd like +to have a lord in the family, no matter how high they come; and she can +work on Gen. Last summer she wanted to go after him--wanted to track him +to his lair; but I thought she might's well stop there, and put m' foot +down. Gen don't seem to care about him one way or the other, but then +'Lady Genevieve' sounds pretty nice----" + +Here a rustle of millinery, approaching through the drawing-room beyond, +cut short old Ryan's confidences. Faraday stood up to receive the +ladies, who entered jubilant and unwearied from an afternoon's shopping. +Genevieve, a magnificent princess, with the air of fashion given by +perfectly setting clothes, much brown fur and velvet, a touch of yellow +lace, and a quantity of fresh violets pinned to her corsage, looked as +if she would make a very fine Lady Genevieve. + +As soon as she heard the news she demanded the letter, and perused it +intently, Faraday covertly watching her. Raising her eyes, she met his +and said, with a little mocking air, "Well, Mr. Faraday, and what do you +think of that?" + +"That your mother seems to have been right," said Faraday, steadily +eyeing her. An expression of chagrin and disappointment, rapid but +unmistakable, crossed her face, dimming its radiance like a breath on a +mirror. She gave a little toss to her head, and turning away toward an +adjacent looking-glass, took off her veil and settled her hat. + +Mrs. Ryan watched her with glowing pride already seeing her in fancy a +member of the British aristocracy; but old Ryan looked rather downcast, +as he generally did when confronted by the triumphant gorgeousness of +the feminine members of his household. Faraday, too, experienced a +sudden depression of spirits so violent and so uncalled for that if he +had had room for any other feeling he would have been intensely +surprised. Barney Ryan, at the prospect of having to repair the breaches +in the Courtney exchequer and ancestral roof-tree, may have experienced +a pardonable dejection. But why should Faraday, who assured himself a +dozen times a day that he merely admired Miss. Genevieve, as any man +might admire a charming and handsome girl, feel so desperate a +despondency? + +To prove to himself that his gloom did not rise from the cause that he +knew it did rise from, Faraday continued to be a constant guest at the +Ryan mansion, continued to see Miss. Genevieve at Madame Delmonti's and +at the other small social gatherings, where the presentable young New +Englander found himself quite a lion. When Mrs. Ryan saw him alone she +flattered his superior intelligence and experience of the world by +asking his opinion of the approaching Lord Hastings's matrimonial plans. +This frank and outspoken lady was on the thorns of uncertainty, Lord +Hastings's flight on his former visit having shaken her faith in him. +Quite unconsciously she impressed upon Faraday how completely both she +and Genevieve had come to trust him as a tried friend. + +With the exaltation of a knight of old, Faraday felt that their trust +would never be misplaced. He answered Mrs. Ryan's anxious queries with +all the honesty of the calmest friendship. Alone in the great gold +drawing-room, he talked to Genevieve on books, on music, on fashion, on +society--on all subjects but that of love. And all the while he felt +like the nightingale who sings its sweetest music while pressing its +breast against a thorn. + +Lord Hastings seemed to have lost no time in repairing to the side of +the fair lady who was supposed to be the object of his fondest +devotions, and whom destiny appeared to have selected as the renovator +of Courtney Manor. Four weeks from the day Faraday had heard of his +intended visit, the Bostonian received a letter from Mrs. Ryan bidding +him to dinner to meet the illustrious guest. It seemed to Faraday that +to go to see the newcomer in converse with Genevieve, beautiful in her +costliest robes, to view the approving smiles of Mrs. Ryan, and perhaps +the happy blushes of Miss. Ryan, was the manly upright course for one +who could never be more than the avowed friend and silent worshipper of +Barney Ryan's only daughter. + +Arriving ten minutes late, he found the party already at the table. It +was an inflexible rule of Barney Ryan's to sit down to dinner at the +stroke of half-past six, whether his guests were assembled or not--a +rule which even his wife's cajoleries and commands were powerless to +combat. + +Tonight the iron old man might well regard with pride the luxury and +splendor that crowned a turbulent career begun in nipping poverty. The +round table, glowing beneath the lights of the long crystal chandeliers, +sparkled with cut-glass, and shone with antique silverware, while in the +center a mass of pale purple orchids spread their fragile crêpe-like +petals from a fringe of fern. Opposite him, still unfaded, superbly +dressed, and admirably self-possessed, was his smiling consort, toward +whom, whatever his pride in her might have been, his feelings this +evening were somewhat hostile, as the ambitious and determined lady had +forced him to don regulation evening dress, arrayed in which Barney's +peace of mind and body both fled. + +On either side of the table sat his son and daughter, the latter +handsomer than Faraday had ever seen her, her heavy dress of +ivory-tinted silk no whiter than her neck, a diamond aigret trembling +like spray in her hair. Her brother Eddie, a year and a half her senior, +looked as if none of the blood of this vigorous strong-thewed, sturdy +stock could run in his veins. He was a pale and sickly looking lad, with +a weak, vulgar face, thin hair and red eyelids. Faraday had only seen +him once or twice before, and judged from remarks made to him by +acquaintances of the family that Eddie did not often honor the parental +roof with his presence. Eddie's irregular career appeared to be the one +subject on which the family maintained an immovable and melancholy +reserve. The disappointment in his only son was the bitter drop in +Barney Ryan's cup. + +There were other guests at the table. Faraday received a coy bow from +Mrs. Peck, who had given her hair an extra bleaching for this occasion, +till her pinched and powdered little face looked out from under an +orange-colored thatch; Mrs. Wheatley was there too, with a suggestion of +large white shoulders shining through veilings of black gauze; and with +an air of stately pride, Mrs. Ryan presented him to Lord Hastings. This +young man, sitting next Genevieve, was a tall, fair, straight-featured +Englishman of gravely unresponsive manners. In the severe perfection of +his immaculate evening dress he looked a handsome, well-bred young +fellow of twenty-five or six. + +As the late guest dropped into his seat, the interrupted conversation +regathered and flowed again. Barney Ryan said nothing. He never spoke +while eating, and rarely talked when women were present. Genevieve too +was quiet, responding with a gently absent smile, when her cavalier, +turning upon her his cold and expressionless steely-blue eyes, addressed +to her some short regulation remark on the weather, or the boredom of +his journey across the plains. The phlegmatic calm of his demeanor +remained intact even under the coquettish onslaughts of Mrs. Peck and +Mrs. Wheatley, who extracted from him with wheedling perseverance his +opinions on the State, the climate, and the country. Lord Hastings +replied with iron-bound and unsmiling brevity, his wide cold glance +resting with motionless attention upon the painted physiognomy of Mrs. +Peck and the broad and buxom one of Mrs. Wheatley, and his head turning +with dignified difficulty in his exceedingly high and tight collar, as +one and the other assailed him with queries. Meanwhile the object of his +journey, slowly moving her great fan of white ostrich feathers, looked +across the table at Faraday and made a little surreptitious _moue_. + +The conversation soon became absorbed by the two married ladies, +Faraday, and Lord Hastings. Only the Ryans were silent, Genevieve now +and then throwing a lazy sentence into the vortex of talk, and Mrs. Ryan +being occupied in lending a proud ear to the coruscations of wit that +sparkled around the board, or in making covert gestures to the +soft-footed Mongols, who moved with deft noiselessness about the table. +Eddie Ryan, like his father, rarely spoke in society. In the glare of +the chandelier he sat like a strange uncomfortable guest, taking no +notice of any one. Toward the end of the feast he conversed in urgent +whispers with his mother--a conversation which ended in her +surreptitiously giving him her keys under the edge of the table. Before +coffee, Eddie left, on the plea of an important engagement, retiring +through the drawing-room, softly jingling the keys. + +After this dinner, when Lord Hastings's presence had banished all his +doubts, when the young Englishman's attractive appearance had impressed +itself upon his jealous eye, and Genevieve's gentle indifference had +seemed to him but a modest form of encouragement. Faraday found but +little time to pay visits to the hospitable home of Barney Ryan. + +The family friend that they had all so warmly welcomed and taken to +their hearts withdrew himself quietly but firmly from their cheerful +circle. When, at rare intervals, he did drop in upon them, he pleaded +important business engagements as the reason of his inability to accept +their numerous invitations to dinners and theater parties. After these +mendacious statements he would wend a gloomy way homeward to his Pine +Street boarding-house, and there spend the evening pretending to read, +and cursing the fate which had ever brought him within the light of +Genevieve's _beaux yeux_. The fable of being the family friend was quite +shattered. Faraday had capitulated. + +Nearly two months after the dinner, when rumors of Genevieve Ryan's +engagement to Lord Hastings were in lively circulation, Faraday called +at the lion-guarded mansion on California Street, and, in answering to +his regulation request for the ladies, received the usual unintelligible +Chinese rejoinder, and was shown into the gold drawing-room. There, +standing in front of a long mirror, looking at her skirts with an eye of +pondering criticism, was Miss Genevieve, dressed to go out. She caught +sight of him in the glass, turned abruptly, and came forward, a color in +her face. + +"Is that you?" she said, holding out her hand. "I am so glad. I thought +it was somebody else." Having thus, with her customary candor, +signified to Faraday that she was expecting Lord Hastings, she sat down +facing him, and said, abruptly, "Why haven't you been here for so long?" + +Faraday made the usual excuses, and did quail before her cold and steady +eyes. + +"That's rather funny," she said, as he concluded "for now you're used to +your new position, and it must go more easily, and yet you have less +time to see your friends than you did at first." + +Faraday made more excuses, and wondered that she should take a cruel +pleasure in such small teasing. + +"I thought p'r'aps," she said, still regarding him with an unflinching +scrutiny, her face grave and almost hard, "that you'd begun to find us +too Western, that the novelty had worn off, that our ways were +too--too--what shall I say?--too wild and woolly." + +A flush of anger ran over Faraday's face. "Your suppositions were +neither just nor true," he said, coldly. + +"Oh, I don't know," she continued, with a careless movement of her head, +and speaking in the high, indifferent tone that a woman adopts when she +wishes to be exasperating; "you needn't get mad. Lots of Eastern people +feel that way. They come out here and see us constantly, and make +friends with us, and then go back and laugh at us, and tell their +friends what barbarians we are. It's customary, and nothing to be +ashamed of." + +"Do you suppose that I am that sort of an Eastern person?" asked +Faraday, quietly. + +"I don't know," she said, doubtfully. "I didn't think you were at first, +but now----" + +"But now you do. Why?" + +"Because you don't come here any more," she said, with a little air of +triumph. "You're tired of us. The novelty is over and so are the +visits." + +Faraday arose, too bitterly annoyed for speech. Genevieve, rising too, +and touching her skirts with arranging hand, continued, apparently +unconscious of the storm she was rousing: + +"And yet it seems odd that you should find such a difference. Lord +Hastings, now, who's English, and much more conventional, thinks the +people here just as refined and particular as any other Americans." + +"It's evident," said Faraday, in a voice roughened with anger, "that +Lord Hastings's appreciation of the refinement of the Americans is only +equaled by your admiration for the talents of the English." + +"I do like them," said Genevieve, dubiously, shaking her head, as if she +was admitting a not entirely creditable taste, and looking away from +him. + +There was a moment's silence. Faraday fastened his eyes upon her in a +look of passionate confession that in its powerful pleading drew her own +back to his. + +"You're as honest as you are cruel," he said, almost in a whisper. + +She made no reply, but turned her head sharply away, as if in sudden +embarrassment. Then, in answer to his conventionally murmured good-byes, +she looked back, and he saw her face radiant, alight, with the most +beautiful smile trembling on the lips. The splendor of this look seemed +to him a mute expression of her happiness--of love reciprocated, +ambition realized--and in it he read his own doom. He turned blindly +round to pick up his hat; the door behind him was opened, and there, +handsome, debonair, fresh as a May morning, stood Lord Hastings, hat in +hand. + +"I hope you're not vexed, Miss. Ryan," said this young man, "but I'm +very much afraid I'm just a bit late." + +After this Faraday thought it quite unnecessary to visit Barney Ryan's +"palatial mansion" for some time. Genevieve's engagement would soon be +announced, and then he would have to go and offer his congratulations. +As to whether he would dance at her wedding with a light heart--that was +another matter. He assured himself that she was making a splendid and +eminently suitable marriage. With her beauty and money and true simple +heart she would deck the fine position which the Englishman could give +her. He wished her every happiness, but that he should stand by and +watch the progress of the courtship seemed to him an unnecessary +twisting of the knife in the wound. Even the endurance of New England +human nature has its limits, and Faraday could stand no more. So he +refused an invitation to a tea from Mrs. Ryan, and one to a dinner and +another to a small musical from Miss. Ryan, and alone in his Pine Street +lodgings, for the first time in his life, read the "social columns" with +a throbbing heart. + +One Saturday afternoon, two weeks from the day that he had last seen +Genevieve, he sat in his room trying to read. He had left the office +early, and though it was still some hours before dark, a heavy +unremitting rain had enveloped the afternoon in a premature twilight. +The perpetual run of water from a break in the gutter near his window +sounded drearily through the depressing history of the woes and +disappointments of David Grieve. The gloom of the book and the afternoon +was settling upon Faraday with the creeping stealthiness of a chill, +when a knock sounded upon his door, and one of the servants without +acquainted him with the surprising piece of intelligence that a lady was +waiting to see him in the sitting-room below. + +As he entered the room, dim with the heavy somberness of the leaden +atmosphere, he saw his visitor standing looking out of the window--a +tall, broad-shouldered, small-waisted striking figure, with a neat black +turban crowning her closely braided hair. At his step she turned, and +revealed the gravely handsome face of Genevieve Ryan. He made no attempt +to take her hand, but murmured a regulation sentence of greeting; then, +looking into her eyes, saw for the first time that handsome face marked +with strong emotion. Miss. Ryan was shaken from her phlegmatic calm; her +hand trembled on the back of the chair before her; the little knot of +violets in her dress vibrated to the beating of her heart. + +"This is not a very conventional thing to do," she said, with her usual +ignoring of all preamble, "but I can't help that. I had something to +talk to you about, Mr. Faraday, and as you would not come to see me, I +had to come to see you." + +"What is it that you wanted to see me about?" asked Faraday, standing +motionless, and feeling in the sense of oppression and embarrassment +that seemed to weigh upon them both the premonition of an approaching +crisis. + +She made no answer for a moment, but stood looking down, as if in an +effort to choose her words or collect her thoughts, the violets in her +dress rising and falling with her quickened breathing. + +"It's rather hard to know how to say--anything," she said at length. + +"If I can do anything for you," said the young man, "you know it would +always be a happiness to me to serve you." + +"Oh, it's not a message or a favor," she said, hastily. "I only wanted +to say something"--she paused in great embarrassment--"but it's even +more queer more unusual, than my coming here." + +Faraday made no response, and for a space both were silent. Then she +said, speaking with a peculiar low distinctness: + +"The last time I saw you I seemed very disagreeable. I wanted to make +sure of something. I wanted to make sure that you were fond of me--to +surprise it out of you. Well--I did it. You are fond of me. I made you +show it to me." She raised her eyes, brilliant and dark, and looked into +his. "If you were to swear to me now that I was wrong I would know you +were not telling the truth," she said, with proud defiance. "You love +me." + +"Yes," said Faraday, slowly, "I do. What then?" + +"What then?" she repeated. "Why do you go away--go away from me?" + +"Because," he answered, "I am too much of a man to live within sight of +the woman I love and can never hope for." + +"Can never hope for?" she exclaimed, aghast. "Are you--are you married?" + +The sudden horror on her face was a strange thing for Faraday to see. + +"No," he said, "I am not married." + +"Then, did she tell you that you never could hope for her?" said Miss. +Genevieve Ryan, in a tremulous voice. + +"No. It was not necessary. I knew myself." + +"You did yourself a wrong, and her too," she broke out, passionately. +"You should have told her, and given her a chance to say--to say what +she has a right to say, without making her come to you, with her love in +her hand, to offer it to you as if she was afraid you were going to +throw it back in her face. It's bad enough being a woman anyway, but to +have the feelings of a woman, and then have to say a thing like +this--it's--it's--ghastly." + +"Genevieve!" breathed Faraday. + +"Why don't you understand?" she continued, desperately. "You won't see +it. You make me come here and tell it to you this way. I may be badly +mannered and unconventional, but I have feelings and pride like other +women. But what else could I do?" + +Her voice suddenly broke into soft appeal, and she held out her hands +toward him with a gesture as spontaneous in its pleading tenderness as +though made by a child. Faraday was human. He dashed away the chair that +stood between them and clasped the trembling hands in his. + +"Why is it," she asked, looking into his face with shining troubled +eyes--"why is it you acted this way? Was it Lord Hastings? I refused +him two weeks ago. I thought I'd marry him once, but that was before I +knew you. Then I waited for you, and you didn't come, and I wrote to +you, and you wouldn't come. And so I had to come and tell you myself, +and it's been something dreadful." + +Faraday made no response, but feeling the smooth hands curled warm +inside his, he stood listening to those soft accents that issued with +the sweetness that love alone lends to women's voices from lips he had +thought as far beyond his reach as the key of the rainbow. + +"Do you think it was awful for me to do it?" she queried, in whispering +anxiety. + +He shook his head. + +"Well," she said, laughing a little and turning her head half away, as +her former embarrassment began to reassert itself over her subsiding +nervousness, "I've often wished I was a man, but if it's always as awful +as that to propose to a person, I'm quite content to be a woman." + + + + +GIDEON'S KNOCK + +BY + +MARY HALLECK FOOTE + +Written for THE SPINNERS' BOOK OF FICTION + +_All Rights Reserved_ + + +BY A curious coincidence, whenever George Fleming was translated to a +wider berth, it was my luck to succeed him in the job he had just +quitted. This had happened more than once, in the chances and changes +that befall the younger men in the mining profession, before we began to +jolly each other about it--always at long range. + +When I heard he had resigned from the Consolidated Resumption, to +everybody's surprise, at a time of great prosperity to the mine, I +hailed my chance and congratulated myself that I should speedily be +asked to fill his place: and I was! + +I wrote him on the spot a playful letter, alluding to my long, stern +chase and begging him to hold on this time till I could shake him by the +hand; I had come to have a personal sentiment toward him apart from the +natural desire to meet face to face the author of my continued +advancement. But to this letter I received no word of reply. + +His silence haunted me, rather--I thought about him a good deal while I +was closing up my affairs in other directions before taking over the +Consolidated Resumption. Meanwhile the company's cashier, Joshua Dean, +a man of trust but small initiative, was filling the interregnum. + +I found him living alone in the manager's house with the Flemings' +Chinese cook as man of all work. The Resumption has never tolerated a +boarding-house or a village or compound within sight of its official +windows. Its first manager was a son of the chief owner, who built his +house in the style of a gentleman's country-seat, small but exclusive +and quite apart from the work. I liked the somber seclusion of the +place, planted deep with trees of about twenty years' growth, showing +their delicate, changing greens against the darker belt of pines. But +its aspect increased, if anything, that uneasy sensation, like a cold +wind in my back, which I still had in thinking of Fleming. + +I had driven out to dine with Dean on the evening of my arrival. It was +the last week in January; there had been much rain already for the +foot-hills. Wet sprays from the untrimmed rose hedges disputed my +passage through the inner gate. Discolored pine-needles lay in sodden +drifts on the neglected grass. The hydrant leaked frozen puddles down +the brick-paved walk. Mounting the veranda steps I laid my hand on the +knocker, when an old Chinese servant popped his head out at a side-door +and violently beckoned me in that way. + +Dean, as I knew, had made his home with the Flemings for some time +before their departure. After a few talks with him and a survey of the +house I decided we might venture to continue the arrangement without +getting in each other's way. It was a house peculiarly adapted to a +_solitude à deux_. There was no telephone nearer than the office. I +argued that Fleming was a man who could protect himself from frivolous +intrusions, and his wife could have had but little in common with her +neighbors in the village. + +He had resigned on account of her health, I was told. It must have been +a hasty flitting or an inconclusive one. The odd, attractive rooms were +full of their belongings still. We two casual bachelors with our +circumspect habits could make no impression on the all but speaking +silence of those empty rooms. They filled me at times with a curious +emotion of sadness and unrest. + +Joshua seldom talked of the Flemings, though I knew he received letters +from them. That he was deeply attached to their memory, hoarded it and +brooded over it, I could not doubt. I even suspected some jealous +sentiment on his part which made it hard for him to see me using their +chairs, planting myself amongst their cushions and investigating their +book-shelves. I thought it strange they had left so many things behind +them of a personal nature. They seemed to have ceased to care for what +most of us rolling stones are wont to cling to. Their departure had +something unspeakable in it--akin to sudden death, or a sickness of the +heart that made life indifferent to them. + +"They must have loved this room!" I said to him one evening. It was +during the black rains of February--Dean and I with our chairs to the +fire, waiting for the Eastern mail. The night watchman's orders were to +stop for it if the trains were anywhere near on time. At this storm +season the Westbound was frequently behind and the road to town a +quagmire. We never looked for Fahey--he was the man I found there as +night watchman--before eight o'clock. It had rained and snowed off and +on since the month began. In the dark, low rooms the fire burned all +day. The dining-room, which had blue-green walls in imitation of Flemish +tapestry and weathered-oak furniture, was darkened still more by the +pines that gave a cloistered look to the view from our back windows into +a small, square court, high-walled and spread with pine-needles. The +rooms we used were two small ones united, done in white and yellow and +with slim curtains which we could crush back upon the rods; but even +there one could not see to read by daylight. This continuous, arctic +gloom added, no doubt, to the melancholy spell of the house, which +nevertheless charmed me, and held me almost with a sense of impalpable +presences sharing with Joshua and me our intimate, wistful seclusion. If +I was happy, in a luxuriously mournful sort of way, I knew that he was +not--that he grieved persistently over something that cast a greyness +over his thoughts in keeping with the atmosphere. I knew that he knew +without any names whom I meant whenever I spoke of _they_. + +"Yes, they loved it," he said, answering my exclamation. "They made it, +somehow, as character is said to shape its own set of features." + +"Had they lived here long?" + +"For a mine house, yes. It was, of course, a home. They had no other." + +"A happy one?" I ventured. + +"Can any one be called happy who has the gift of strong feeling, and +two children at stake, in this world?" I had never heard him speak with +such bitterness. + +"But to have any one to feel for--that is life," I said. "I wish I had +more of it myself." + +"Life, then, is not happiness." + +I left him the last word, and sitting so, both silent, we heard a +screen-door at the kitchen-end blow to with a bang and a clatter of +tinware that sent the blood to my face in wrath. I said something--about +Jim and his fly-doors (Jim believed that flies or their ghosts besieged +that house all winter)--when the old heathen himself came boiling into +the room like a whole United States mail service delayed. + +"Hoo! Heap bad ou'si'! Heap snow!" he panted, wiping drops from the lock +of the mail-pouch with his apron. + +My wrath increased, because once more Fahey had got past the front door +with the mail, whereas each night I had promised myself to waylay him +and change his roundabout method of delivery. "If I live till tomorrow," +I said crossly, "I'll see if he can't climb those steps and hand us the +bag himself." + +Jim stood listening. "We might be at dinner," Joshua suggested. + +"What's the matter with knocking?--what is the knocker for?" It struck +me, as I spoke, that I had not heard the sound of the knocker since the +day Jim stayed my own hand and shunted me in at the side; it seemed he +must have practised the same vigilance with subsequent comers, for I +could not recall one person who had entered the house announced by the +brass lion's head on the door. + +"_He_ no lock!" Jim planted himself in front of me; his voice quavered +nervously. "All time I _un_-lock! Fi' 'tlock whistle blow--I go quick! +Nobody wait. I all time run." + +"Why should you run? What is the knocker for?" I repeated. At this I +stepped past him startling him somewhat, and hurled open the front door. +I had heard our coy watchman going down the path. + +"Tomorrow night, Fahey," I shouted, "you bring the bag in this way. +Knock, man! There's the knocker--see?" + +Jim looked at me with eyes aghast. He gathered himself for speech, +breathing deeply. + +"Mis' Oth' (my name is Othet), I tell you: Long time-_long_ time, no man +knock flon' do'. In this house, no good. No good knock. Sometime +some-come-you no man see!" He lowered his voice to a rapid whisper, +spreading his yellow palms tremulously. "You tell man come knock flon' +do'--I go 'way. Too much bad thing!" + +Muttering to himself he retreated. "Now what has he got on his mind do +you suppose? Could you make out what he was driving at?" + +Dean smiled, a non-committal smile. "It would be rather awkward for us, +wouldn't it, if Jim should leave? We are too far from the coast for city +servants in winter. I doubt if any of the natives could be persuaded to +stay in this house alone." + +"You think Jim would leave if I made Fahey knock at that door every +night?" + +Joshua answered me obliquely. "If I could ever quote anything straight, +I would remind you of a saying in one of George Eliot's novels that +'we've all got to take a little trouble to keep sane and call things by +the same names as other people.' Perhaps Jim doesn't take quite trouble +enough. I have difficulty sometimes myself to find names for things. I +should like to hear you classify a certain occurrence I have in mind, +not unconnected, I think, with Jim's behavior tonight. I've never +discussed it, of course. In fact, I've never spoken of it before." He +smiled queerly. "It's very astonishing how they know things." + +"The menials?" + +He nodded. "Jim was in the house at the time. No one knows that he heard +it,--no one ever told him. But he is thinking of it tonight just as I +am. He's never forgotten it for a moment, and never will." + +Joshua dragged the charred logs forward and stooped amid their sparks to +lay a fresh one with its back to the chimney. Then he rose and looked +out; as he stood in the door, I could hear the hissing of fine snow +turning to rain and the drenched bamboo whipping the piazza posts; over +all, the larger lament of the pines, and, from the long rows of lights +in the gulch, the diapason of the stamp-heads thundering on through the +night. + +"'Identities of sensation,'" said Joshua, quoting again as he shut the +door, "are strong with persons who live in lonely places! Jim and I have +lived here too long." + +"Well, I hope you won't live here another moment till you have told me +that story," I urged, and we drew again to the fire. + +"There was a watchman here before Fahey," he began, "an old plainsman, +with a Bible name, Gideon. He looked like the pictures of old +Ossawattamie Brown, and he had for the Flemings a most unusual regard. +It was as strong as his love for his family. It was because of what +Fleming did for his son, young Gid, when they caught him stealing +specimens with a gang of old offenders. Gid was nineteen, and a pretty +good boy, we thought. Such things happen between men of the right sort +every day, I suppose,--Fleming would say so. But it was his opportunity +to do it for a man who could feel and remember, and he made a friend for +life right there. It is too long a story to tell, but young Gid's all +right--working in the city, married and happy,--trusted like any other +man. It wasn't in the blood, you see. + +"Before his boy got into trouble, Fleming used to call the old man +'Gideon,' talked to him any old way; but after his pride fell down it +was always 'Mr. Gideon,' and a few words when he brought the mail, about +the weather or the conduct of the trains. The old man appeared to stand +taller in those moments at the door, when he brought to the house the +very food of its existence. They lived upon their letters, for both the +children were away. The army boy in the Philippines; it was during the +Mindanao campaign; and Constance (Joshua, I noticed, took a deep breath +before the name), the daughter, was at school in the East. Gideon could +gauge the spirits of the two, waiting here for what he brought them. He +kept tally of the soldier's letters, the thin blue ones that came +strolling in by the transport lines. But hers--her letters were his +pride. + +"'It's there all right,' he would say--'she never misses a Monday mail, +the little one!' or, as the winter months wore on--'you'll be counting +the weeks now, madam. Six more letters and then the telegram from Ogden, +and I hope it's my privilege to bring it, madam.' For as Fleming gave +him his title, the old man passed it back with a glow of emphasis, +putting devotion into the 'madam' and life service into the 'Mr. +Fleming, sir.' + +"Then she came home--Constance--she was no longer the little one. Taller +than her mother, and rather silent, but her looks were a language, and +her motions about the house--I suppose no words could measure their +pride in her, or their shrinking when they thought of her in contact +with the world. People laughed a little, looking at her, when her mother +talked of the years they were going to have together. And she would +rebuke the laugh and say, 'We do not marry early in my family, nor the +Flemings either.' When the August heat came on, they thought she was too +pale--they spared her for a visit to some friends who had a houseboat +off Belvedere, or some such place. It was an ambush of fate. She came +home, thin, brown, from living on the water,--happy! too happy for +safety. She brought her fate with her, the last man you'd suppose could +ever cross her path. He was from Hawaii, an Englishman--not all English, +some of us thought. Handsome as a snake; a face that kept no marks. Eyes +all black--nothing of the pupil showing. They say such eyes are not to +be trusted. I never liked him. I'd better not try to describe him. + +"It seemed madness to me, but I suppose they were no more helpless than +other fathers and mothers. He had plenty to say for himself, and +introductions--all sorts of credentials, except a pair of eyes. They had +to let it go on; and he took her away from them six months after she saw +him first. That's happiness, if you call it so!" + +Again I added, "It is life." + +"There was not much left of it in this house after she went," Joshua +mused. "It was then they asked me to come up and stay with them. A +silence of three does not press quite so close as a silence of two. And +we talked sometimes. The mine had taken a great jump; it was almost a +mockery the way things boomed. The letters, I noticed, were not what the +schoolgirl letters had been to her mother. They came all right, they +were punctual, but something I felt sure was wrong. Mrs. Fleming would +not have missed a mail for anything in the world--every hour's delay +wore upon her. She would play her game of solitaire, long after bedtime, +at that desk by the drop-light. It seemed she could not read; nothing +held her. She was irritable with Fleming, and then she would pet him +piteously to make up. He was always gentle. He would watch her over his +book as she walked up and down in the back room in the light between the +dining-room curtains. If he saw I noticed, he'd look away and begin to +talk. + +"I have gone a little ahead of my story, for this was after the dark +weather came on and the mails were behind; we knew there was some new +strain on her spirits. You could see her face grow small and her flesh +waste away. + +"One night we sat here, Fleming and I, and she was pacing in her soft, +weary way in the back of the room. There came a knock. It was Gideon's, +yet none of us heard the gate click nor any step outside. She stood +back, for she never showed any impatience--she tried to pretend that she +expected nothing. Fleming opened the door; he stood there an instant +looking out. + +"'Didn't you hear a knock?' he asked me. Before I could answer he went +outside, closing the door, and we heard him go down the steps slowly. + +"When he came in he merely said, 'A jar of wind. + +"'A jar of wind!' Mrs. Fleming mocked him. The knock came again as she +spoke. Once, twice, then the light tap: I have described Gideon's knock. +We did not pretend again it was the wind. + +"'You go this time;' Fleming tried to laugh. 'See if there is anything +doing.' + +"There was nothing doing whatever, and nothing to be seen. I turned on +the electrics outside, and Fleming, seeing the light, came out to join +me. I asked him if those were his tracks--a man's footsteps could be +seen printed in the fresh, light snow as far as the lowest step and +back. All beyond, where the light streamed down the path to the gate, +was sky-fresh snow softly laid without wind. 'Those are my tracks,' he +said. 'There were no others before--sure,' he repeated, 'and there is no +one down at the gate. You need not go down there. Say nothing to her,' +he continued as we re-opened the door. + +"She was expecting us. She was very pale but half smiling, braving it +out. She fixed her eyes on Fleming and then on me. 'Did you not _both_ +hear that knock?' As she spoke it came again. I stood nearest the door; +I hurled it open. Absolutely nothing. The lights, burning in a silly +way, made shadows on the steps. Not a mark, not even a leaf-track on the +path we could see below. + +"I went over to the telephone and called up the post-office. What +happened at the house in absence I do not know. I found the drawing-room +empty; Fleming joined me coming from his wife's room. + +"'She is fearfully upset by that knocking,' he said. 'Can't we think up +some explanation?' + +"I feared he would have less courage for inventing explanations after +what I had to tell him. + +"I had followed the track of a horse and cart to the stable and found +Gideon's old mare at her hitching-post; the cart was empty, the muddy +lap-robe dragging over the wheel. At the post-office they told me Gideon +had started for the mine an hour and a half ago. 'Hasn't he got out +there with that telegram yet?' they added. From the telegraph office, +where they knew Gideon's hours, they had sent a message across to the +post-office to be carried out by him with the mail. The voice on the +telephone remarked, 'I guess they ought to get that wire pretty soon. It +was marked _Important.'_ + +"Fleming was cold and shaking as he listened. 'Drive back along the road +through the woods, Joshua'--he seldom called me by that name. 'I think +something has happened to the old man. His knock is on duty tonight, but +where is he?' + +"It came again, and following it a low cry from passage behind closed +doors. 'She heard it too,' said Fleming. And he went to his wife. + +"I called up the landing-man to help me--Tommy Briscoe; I knew he +wouldn't spread any talk about. The search was not long. A lantern +burning by itself in the woods showed us where he had stopped the cart +and half turned and tramped around in the snow. He'd dropped the bag +out, probably, missed it and looked for it on foot, setting his lantern +down. He'd gone back quite a bit along the road, and, coming back with +it, the light in his eyes, he had made a misstep, and the shaft--the old +Granite Hill shaft, you know--it's close to the road. We found him in +the sump at the bottom. There had been too much rain, but it is a deep +shaft anyway. He kept his hold on the bag, and he kept his senses long +enough to hook it onto a poor little stray pine-root above the water, +where he died. It was a cruel death, but his face was good to look at." + +"And the telegram?" I asked. + +"It was safe. He'd saved everything, except himself. They were driven +over to Colfax that night, with not a moment to spare----" + +"But you haven't told me what it was." + +"The message? Yes, it was from her, Constance--sent from an address in +the city. It said--I suppose I may repeat it. It is part of the night's +work. + +"'Come to me, mother,' it said. 'I am here. I need you.'" + +"And they were in time?" + +"To bid her good-by," said Joshua. "There was no hope for her but in +death. Of course, they never explained. She simply fled from--we don't +know what. As long as she could she bore it without complaint, and then +she came home. She had them both with her and she knew them. + +"I believe they were willing to give her up. It was the only solution +left. They were very fixed in their ideas about divorce, and what comes +after. They believed in staking all or nothing and abiding the result. +The logic of her choice was death. They saw her free, without a stain, +without an obligation in this life even to her child, for it lay dead +beside her. They did grieve for that. They wanted it to live. It would +have been something--yet, I believe, even that was best. + +"They lived on here for a while, if you call it living; but the silence +in these rooms was more than she could endure. And I need not tell you +that the watchman, who was put on after Gideon, had orders to leave that +knocker alone." + +"And you think," I asked, "that while Gideon lay dead at the bottom of +the shaft, his knock was 'marching on'?" I regretted instantly the turn +of my last sentence. Joshua stiffened as he replied: + +"No; I cannot assert that he was dead, but I am convinced that what was +left of him, of his mortal--or immortal--consciousness, was not +concerned with himself. What may happen to us at that last boundary post +is one of the mysteries no man can solve till he gets there." + +"Joshua," I said, "the drift of your conclusion is a tribute to Gideon's +faithfulness--well deserved I have no doubt. But if you'll allow me to +say so, it is not a tribute to the healthy state of your mind. I regret +to say it, but I fear that I agree with you: I think you have lived in +this house too long." + +"If I had lived here too long for any other reason," he answered gently, +"enough has been said. It is better we should understand each other. +But, as to my mind--I prefer to keep it unhealthy, if by that you mean +the tendency to project it a little further than reason, founded on such +laws of the universe as we know, can help us. Healthy minds are such as +accept things--endeavor to forget what gives immeasurable pain. I prefer +the pain." + + + + +A YELLOW MAN AND A WHITE + +BY + +ELEANOR GATES + +Reprinted from _Scribner's Magazine_ of June, 1905 by permission + + +FONG WU sat on the porch of his little square-fronted house, chanting +into the twilight. Across his padded blouse of purple silk lay his +_sam-yen_ banjo. And as, from time to time, his hymn to the Three Pure +Ones was prolonged in high, fine quavers, like the uneven, squeaky notes +of a woman's voice, he ran his left hand up the slender neck of the +instrument, rested a long nail of his right on its taut, snake's-skin +head, and lightly touched the strings; then, in quick, thin tones, they +followed the song to Sang-Ching. + +The warm shadows of a California summer night were settling down over +the wooded hills and rocky gulches about Fong Wu's, and there was little +but his music to break the silence. Long since, the chickens had +sleepily sought perches in the hen yard, with its high wall of rooty +stumps and shakes, and on the branches of the Digger pine that towered +beside it. Up the dry creek bed, a mile away, twinkled the lights of +Whiskeytown; but no sounds from the homes of the white people came down +to the lonely Chinese. If his clear treble was interrupted, it was by +the cracking of a dry branch as a cottontail sped past on its way to a +stagnant pool, or it was by a dark-emboldened coyote, howling, +dog-like, at the moon which, white as the snow that eternally coifs the +Sierras, was just rising above their distant, cobalt line. + +One year before, Fong Wu, heavily laden with his effects, had slipped +out of the stage from Redding and found his way to a forsaken, +ramshackle building below Whiskeytown. His coming had proved of small +interest. When the news finally got about that "a monkey" was living in +"Sam Kennedy's old place," it was thought, for a while, that laundering, +thereafter, would be cheaply done. This hope, however, was soon +dispelled. For, shortly after his arrival, as Fong Wu asked at the +grocery store for mail, he met Radigan's inquiry of "You do my washee, +John?" with a grave shake of the head. Similar questions from others +were met, later, in a similar way. Soon it became generally known that +the "monkey at Sam Kennedy's" did not do washing; so he was troubled no +further. + +Yet if Fong Wu did not work for the people of Whiskeytown, he was not, +therefore, idle. Many a sunrise found him wandering through the +chaparral thickets back of his house, digging here and there in the red +soil for roots and herbs. These he took home, washed, tasted, and, +perhaps, dried. His mornings were mainly spent in cooking for his +abundantly supplied table, in tending his fowls and house, and in making +spotless and ironing smooth various undergarments--generous of sleeve +and leg. + +But of an afternoon, all petty duties were laid aside, and he sorted +carefully into place upon his shelves numerous little bunches and boxes +of dried herbs and numerous tiny phials of pungent liquid that had come +to him by post; he filled wide sheets of foolscap with vertical lines of +queer characters and consigned them to big, plainly addressed, +well-stamped envelopes; he scanned closely the last newspapers from San +Francisco, and read from volumes in divers tongues, and he poured over +the treasured Taoist book, "The Road to Virtue." + +Sunday was his one break in the week's routine. Then, the coolies who +panned or cradled for gold in tailings of near-by abandoned mines, +gathered at Fong Wu's. On such occasions, there was endless, lively +chatter, a steady exchange of barbering--one man scraping another clean, +to be, in turn, made hairless in a broad band about the poll and on +cheek and chin--and much consuming of tasty chicken, dried fish, pork, +rice, and melon seeds. To supplement all this, Fong Wu recounted the +news: the arrival of a consul in San Francisco, the raid on a slave--or +gambling-den, the progress of a tong war under the very noses of the +baffled police, and the growth of Coast feeling against the continued, +quiet immigration of Chinese. But of the social or political affairs of +the Flowery Kingdom--of his own land beyond the sea--Fong Wu was +consistently silent. + +Added to his Sunday responsibilities as host and purveyor of news, Fong +Wu had others. An ailing countryman, whether seized with malaria or +suffering from an injury, found ready and efficient attention. The bark +of dogwood, properly cooked, gave a liquid that killed the ague; and oil +from a diminutive bottle, or a red powder whetted upon the skin with a +silver piece, brought out the soreness of a bruise. + +Thus, keeping his house, herb-hunting, writing, studying, entertaining, +doctoring, Fong Wu lived on at Whiskeytown. + +Each evening, daintily manipulating ivory chopsticks, he ate his supper +of rice out of a dragon-bordered bowl. Then, when he had poured tea from +a pot all gold-encrusted--a cluster of blossoms nodding in a vase at his +shoulder the while--he went out upon the porch of the square-fronted +house. + +And there, as now, a scarlet-buttoned cap on his head, his black eyes +soft with dreaming, his richly wrought sandals tapping the floor in +time, his long queue--a smooth, shining serpent--in thick coils about +his tawny neck, Fong Wu thrummed gently upon the three-stringed banjo, +and, in peace, chanted into the twilight. + + * * * * * + +Flying hoofs scattered the gravel on the strip of road before Fong Wu's. +He looked through the gloom and saw a horse flash past, carrying a +skirted rider toward Whiskeytown. His song died out. He let his banjo +slip down until its round head rested between his feet. Then he turned +his face up the gulch. + +Despite the dusk, he knew the traveler: Mrs. Anthony Barrett, who, with +her husband, had recently come to live in a house near Stillwater. Every +evening, when the heat was over, she went by, bound for the day's mail +at the post-office. Every evening, in the cool, Fong Wu saw her go, and +sometimes she gave him a friendly nod. + +Her mount was a spirited, mouse-dun mustang, with crop-ears, a roached +mane, and the back markings of a mule. She always rode at a run, +sitting with easy erectness. A wide army hat rested snugly on her fair +hair, and shaded a white forehead and level-looking eyes. But +notwithstanding the sheltering brim, on her girlish face were set the +glowing, scarlet seals of wind and sun. + +As he peered townward after her, Fong Wu heard the hurrying hoof-beats +grow gradually fainter and fainter--and cease. Presently the moon topped +the pines on the foot-hills behind him, bathing the gulch in light. The +road down which she would come sprang into view. He watched its farthest +open point. In a few moments the hoof-beats began again. Soon the glint +of a light waist showed through the trees. Next, horse and rider rounded +a curve at hand. Fong Wu leaned far forward. + +And then, just as the mustang gained the strip of road before the +square-fronted house, it gave a sudden, unlooked-for, outward leap, +reared with a wild snort, and, whirling, dashed past the +porch--riderless. + +With an exclamation, Fong Wu flung his banjo aside and ran to the road. +There under a manzanita bush, huddled and still, lay a figure. He caught +it up, bore it to the porch, and put it gently down. + +A brief examination, made with the deftness practise gives, showed him +that no bones were broken. Squatting beside the unconscious woman, he +next played slowly with his long-nailed fingers upon her pulse. Its beat +reassured him. He lighted a lamp and held it above her. The scarlet of +her cheeks was returning. + +The sight of her, who was so strong and active, stretched weak and +fainting, compelled Fong Wu into spoken comment. "The petal of a plum +blossom," he said compassionately, in his own tongue. + +She stirred a little. He moved back. As, reviving, she opened her eyes, +they fell upon him. But he was half turned away, his face as blank and +lifeless as a mask. + +She gave a startled cry and sat up. "Me hurtee?" she asked him, adopting +pidgin-English "Me fallee off?" + +Fong Wu rose. "You were thrown," he answered gravely. + +She colored in confusion. "Pardon me," she said, "for speaking to you as +if you were a coolie." Then, as she got feebly to her feet--"I believe +my right arm is broken." + +"I have some knowledge of healing," he declared; "let me look at it." +Before she could answer, he had ripped the sleeve away. "It is only a +sprain," he said. "Wait." He went inside for an amber liquid and +bandages. When he had laved the injured muscles, he bound them round. + +"How did it happen?" she asked, as he worked. He was so courteous and +professional that her alarm was gone. + +"Your horse was frightened by a rattler in the road. I heard it whir." + +She shuddered. "I ought to be thankful that I didn't come my cropper on +it," she said, laughing nervously. + +He went inside again, this time to prepare a cupful of herbs. When he +offered her the draught, she screwed up her face over its nauseating +fumes. + +"If that acts as strongly as it tastes," she said, after she had drunk +it, "I'll be well soon." + +"It is to keep away inflammation." + +"Oh! Can I go now?" + +"Yes. But tomorrow return, and I will look at the arm." He took the lamp +away and replaced his red-buttoned cap with a black felt hat. Then he +silently preceded her down the steps to the road. Only when the light of +her home shone plainly ahead of them, did he leave her. + +They had not spoken on the way. But as he bowed a good night, she +addressed him. "I thank you," she said. "And may I ask your name?" + +"Kwa"--he began, and stopped. Emotion for an instant softened his +impassive countenance. He turned away. "Fong Wu," he added, and was +gone. + +The following afternoon the crunch of cart wheels before the +square-fronted house announced her coming. Fong Wu closed "The Book of +Virtue," and stepped out upon the porch. + +A white man was seated beside her in the vehicle. As she sprang from it, +light-footed and smiling, and mounted the steps, she indicated him +politely to the Chinese. + +"This is my husband," she said. "I have told him how kind you were to me +last night." + +Fong Wu nodded. + +Barrett hastened to voice his gratitude. "I certainly am very much +obliged to you," he said. "My wife might have been bitten by the +rattler, or she might have lain all night in pain if you hadn't found +her. And I want to say that your treatment was splendid. Why, her arm +hasn't swollen or hurt her. I'll be hanged if I can see--you're such a +good doctor--why you stay in this----" + +Fong Wu interrupted him. "I will wet the bandage with medicine," he +said, and entered the house. + +They watched him with some curiosity as he treated the sprain and +studied the pulse. When he brought out her second cup of steaming herbs, +Mrs. Barrett looked up at him brightly. + +"You know we're up here for Mr. Barrett's health," she said. "A year or +so after we were married, he was hurt in a railway collision. Since +then, though his wounds healed nicely, he has never been quite well. Dr. +Lord, our family physician, prescribed plenty of rough work, and a quiet +place, far from the excitement of a town or city. Now, all this morning, +when I realized how wonderful it was that my arm wasn't aching, I've +been urging my husband--what do you suppose?--to come and be examined by +you!" + +Fong Wu, for the first time, looked fully at the white man, marking the +sallow, clayey face, with its dry, lined skin, its lusterless eyes and +drooping lids. + +Barrett scowled at his wife. "Nonsense, dear," he said crossly; "you +know very well that Lord would never forgive me." + +"But Fong Wu might help you," she declared. + +Fong Wu's black eyes were still fixed searchingly upon the white man. +Before their scrutiny, soul-deep, the other's faltered and fell. + +"You might help him, mightn't you, Fong Wu?" Mrs. Barrett repeated. + +An expression, curious, keen, and full of meaning, was the answer. Then, +"I might if he----" Fong Wu said, and paused. + +Past Mrs. Barrett, whose back was toward her husband, the latter had +shot a warning glance. "Come, come, Edith," he cried irritably; "let's +get home." + +Mrs. Barrett emptied her cup bravely. "When shall we call again?" she +asked. + +"You need not come again," Fong Wu replied. "Each day you have only to +dampen the bandages from these." He handed her a green-flowered box +containing twelve tiny compartments; in each was a phial. + +"And I sha'n't have to take any more of this--this awful stuff?" she +demanded gaily, giving back the cup. + +"No." + +"Ah! And now, I want to thank you again, with all my heart. Here,"--she +reached into the pocket of her walking-skirt,--"here is something for +your trouble." Two double-eagles lay on her open palm. + +Fong Wu frowned at them. "I take no money," he said, a trifle gruffly. +And as she got into the cart, he closed the door of his home behind him. + +It was a week before Mrs. Barrett again took up her rides for the mail. +When she did, Fong Wu did not fail to be on his porch as she passed. For +each evening, as she cantered up the road, spurring the mustang to its +best paces, she reined to speak to him. And he met her greetings with +unaccustomed good humor. + +Then she went by one morning before sunrise, riding like the wind. A +little later she repassed, whipping her horse at every gallop. Fong Wu, +called to his door by the clatter, saw that her face was white and +drawn. At noon, going up to the post-office, he heard a bit of gossip +that seemed to bear upon her unwonted trip. Radigan was rehearsing it +excitedly to his wife, and the Chinese busied himself with his mail and +listened--apparently unconcerned. + +"I c'n tell you she ain't afraid of anythin', that Mrs. Barrett," the +post-master was saying; "neither th' cayuse she rides or a critter on +two legs. An' that fancy little drug-clerk from 'Frisco got it straight +from th' shoulder." + +"S-s-sh!" admonished his wife, from the back of the office. "Isn't there +some one outside?" + +"Naw, just th' chink from Kennedy's. Well, as I remarked, she did jus' +light into that dude. 'It was criminal!' she says, an' her eyes snapped +like a whip; 'it was criminal! an' if I find out for sure that you are +guilty, I'll put you where you'll never do it again.' Th' young gent +smirked at her an' squirmed like a worm. 'You're wrong, Mrs. Barrett,' +he says, lookin' like th' meek puppy he is, 'an' you'll have t' look +some place else for th' person that done it.' But she wouldn't talk no +longer--jus' walked out, as mad as a hornet." + +"Well, well," mused Mrs. Radigan. "I wonder what 'twas all about. +'Criminal,' she said, eh? That's funny!" She walked to the front of the +office and peeked through the wicket. But no one was loitering near +except Fong Wu, and his face was the picture of dull indifference. + +That night, long after the hour for Mrs. Barrett's regular trip, and +long past the time for his supper-song, Fong Wu heard slow, shuffling +steps approach the house. A moment afterward, the knob of his door was +rattled. He put out his light and slipped a knife into his loose sleeve. + +After some fumbling and moving about on the porch, a man called out to +him. He recognized the voice. + +"Fong Wu! Fong Wu!" it begged. "Let me in. I want to see you; I want to +ask you for help--for something I need. Let me in; let me in." + +Fong Wu, without answering, relit his lamp, and, with the air of one who +is at the same time both relieved and a witness of the expected, flung +the door wide. + +Then into the room, writhing as if in fearful agony, his hands palsied, +his face a-drip and, except for dark blotches about the mouth, +green-hued, his eyes wild and sunken, fell, rather than tottered, +Anthony Barrett. + +"Fong Wu," he pleaded, from the floor at the other's feet, "you helped +my wife when she was sick, now help me. I'm dying! I'm dying! Give it to +me, for God's sake! give it to me." He caught at the skirt of Fong Wu's +blouse. + +The Chinese retreated a little, scowling. "What do you want?" he asked. + +A paroxysm of pain seized Barrett. He half rose and stumbled forward. +"You know," he panted, "you know. And if I don't have some, I'll die. I +can't get it anywhere else. She's found me out, and scared the +drug-clerk. Oh, just a little, old man, just a little!" He sank to the +floor again. + +"I can give you nothing," said Fong Wu bluntly. "I do not keep--what you +want." + +With a curse, Barrett was up again. "Oh, you don't," he screamed, +leering frenziedly. "You yellow devil! You almond-eyed pigtail! But I +know you do! And I must have it. Quick! quick!" He hung, clutching, on +the edge of Fong Wu's wide ironing-table, an ashen wreck. + +Fong Wu shook his head. + +With a cry, Barrett came at him and seized his lean throat. "You damned +highbinder!" he gasped. "You saddle-nosed monkey! You'll get me what I +want or I'll give you away. Don't I know why you're up here in these +woods, with your pretty clothes and your English talk? A_-ha_! You bet I +do! You're hiding, and you're wanted,"--he dropped his voice to a +whisper,--"the tongs would pay head-money for you. If you don't give it +to me, I'll put every fiend in 'Frisco on your trail." + +Fong Wu had caught Barrett's wrists. Now he cast him to one side. +"Tongs!" he said with a shrug, as if they were beneath his notice. And +"Fiends!" he repeated contemptuously, a taunt in his voice. + +The white man had fallen prone and was grovelling weakly. "Oh, I won't +tell on you," he wailed imploringly. "I won't, I won't, Fong Wu; I swear +it on my honor." + +Fong Wu grunted and reached to a handy shelf. "I will make a bargain +with you," he said craftily; "first, you are to drink what I wish." + +"Anything! anything!" Barrett cried. + +From a box of dry herbs, long untouched, the Chinese drew out a handful. +There was no time for brewing. Outraged nature demanded instant relief. +He dropped them into a bowl, covered them with water, and stirred +swiftly. When the stems and leaves were broken up and well mixed, he +strained brown liquid from them and put it to the other's lips. + +"Drink," he commanded, steadying the shaking head. + +Barrett drank, unquestioningly. + +Instantly the potion worked. Calmed as if by a miracle, made drowsy to a +point where speech was impossible, the white man, tortured but a moment +before, tipped sleepily into Fong Wu's arms. The Chinese waited until a +full effect was secured, when he lifted his limp patient to the +blanket-covered ironing-table. Then he went out for fuel, built a fire, +and, humming softly--with no fear of waking the other--sat down to watch +the steeping of more herbs. + + * * * * * + +What happened next at the square-fronted house was the unexpected. Again +there was a sound of approaching footsteps, again some one gained the +porch. But this time there was no pausing to ask for admission, there +were no weak requests for aid. A swift hand felt for the knob and found +it; a strong arm pushed at the unlocked door. And through it, +bare-headed, with burning eyes and blanched cheeks, her heavy +riding-whip dangling by a thong from her wrist, came the wife of Anthony +Barrett. + +Just across the sill she halted and swept the dim room. A moment, and +the burning eyes fell upon the freighted ironing-table. She gave a +piercing cry. + +Fong Wu neither spoke nor moved. + +After the first outburst, she was quiet--the quiet that is deliberative, +threatening. Then she slowly closed her fingers about the whip butt. +Fixing her gaze in passionate anger upon him, she advanced a few steps. + +_"So it was you,"_ she said, and her voice was hollow. + +To that he made no sign, and even his colorless face told nothing. + +She came forward a little farther, and sucked in a long, deep breath. +"You _dog_ of a Chinaman!" she said at last, and struck her +riding-skirt. + +Fong Wu answered silently. With an imperative gesture, he pointed out +the figure on the ironing-table. + +She sprang to her husband's side and bent over him. Presently she began +to murmur to herself. When, finally, she turned, there were tears on her +lashes, she was trembling visibly, and she spoke in whispers. + +"Was I wrong?" she demanded brokenly. "I _must_ have been. He's not had +it; I can tell by his quick, easy breathing. And his ear has a faint +color. You are trying to help him! I know! I know!" + +A gleaming white line showed between the yellow of Fong Wu's lips. He +picked up a rude stool and set it by the table. She sank weakly upon it, +letting the whip fall. + +"Thank God! thank God!" she sobbed prayerfully, and buried her face in +her arms. + +[Illustration: "THE PETAL OF A PLUM BLOSSOM." +FROM A PAINTING BY ALBERTINE RANDALL, WHEELAN.] + +Throughout the long hours that followed, Fong Wu, from the room's +shadowy rear, sat watching. He knew sleep did not come to her. For now +and then he saw her shake from head to heel convulsively, as he had seen +men in his own country quiver +beneath the scourge of bamboos. Now and then, too, he heard her give a +stifled moan, like the protest of a dumb creature. But in no other ways +did she bare her suffering. Quietly, lest she wake her husband, she +fought out the night. + +Only once did Fong Wu look away from her. Then, in anger and disgust his +eyes shifted to the figure on the table. "The petal of a plum +blossom"--he muttered in Chinese--"the petal of a plum blossom beneath +the hoofs of a pig!" And again his eyes dwelt upon the grief-bowed wife. + +But when the dawn came stealing up from behind the purple Sierras, and +Mrs. Barrett raised her wan face, he was studiously reviewing his rows +of bottles, outwardly unaware of her presence. + +"Fong Wu," she said, in a low voice, "when will he wake?" + +"When he is rested; at sunrise, maybe, or at noon." + +"And then?" + +"He will be feeble. I shall give him more medicine, and he will sleep +again." + +He rose and busied himself at the fire. Soon he approached her, bringing +the gold-encrusted teapot and a small, handleless cup. + +She drank thirstily, filling and emptying the cup many times. When she +was done, she made as if to go. "I shall see that everything is all +right at home," she told him. "After that, I shall come back." She +stooped and kissed her husband tenderly. + +Fong Wu opened the door for her, and she passed out. In the road, +unhitched, but waiting, stood the mustang. She mounted and rode away. + +When she returned, not long afterward, she was a new woman. She had +bathed her face and donned a fresh waist. Her eyes were alight, and the +scarlet was again flaming in her cheeks. Almost cheerfully, and +altogether hopefully, she resumed her post at the ironing-table. + +It was late in the afternoon before Barrett woke. But he made no attempt +to get up, and would not eat. Fong Wu administered another dose of +herbs, and without heeding his patient's expostulations. The latter, +after seeking his wife's hand, once more sank into sleep. + +Just before sunset, Fong Wu, who scorned to rest, prepared supper. +Gratefully Mrs. Barrett partook of some tender chicken and rice cakes. +When darkness shut down, they took up their second long vigil. + +But it was not the vigil of the previous night. She was able to think of +other things than her husband's condition and the doom that, of a +sudden, had menaced her happiness. Her spirits having risen, she was +correspondingly impatient of a protracted, oppressive stillness, and +looked about for an interruption, and for diversion. Across from her, a +celestial patrician in his blouse of purple silk and his red-buttoned +cap, sat Fong Wu. Consumed with curiosity--now that she had time to +observe him closely--she longed to lift the yellow, expressionless mask +from his face--a face which might have patterned that of an oriental +sphinx. At midnight, when he approached the table to satisfy himself of +Barrett's progress, and to assure her of it, she essayed a conversation. + +Glancing up at his laden shelves, she said, "I have been noticing your +medicines, and how many kinds there seem to be." + +"For each ailment that is visited upon man, earth offers a cure," he +answered. "Life would be a mock could Death, unchallenged, take it." + +"True. Have you found in the earth, then, the cure for each ailment of +man?" + +"For most, yes. They seek yet, where I learned the art of healing, an +antidote for the cobra's bite. I know of no other they lack." + +"Where you were taught they must know more than we of this country +know." + +Fong Wu gave his shoulders a characteristic shrug. + +"But," she continued, "you speak English so perfectly. Perhaps you were +taught that in this country." + +"No--in England. But the other, I was not." + +"In England! Well!" + +"I went there as a young man." + +"But these herbs, these medicines you have--they did not come from +England, did they?" + +He smiled. "Some came from the hills at our back." Then, crossing to his +shelves and reaching up, "This"--he touched a silk-covered package--"is +from Sumbawa in the Indian Sea; and this"--his finger was upon the cork +of a phial--"is from Feng-shan, Formosa; and other roots are taken in +winter from the lake of Ting-ting-hu, which is then dry; and still +others come from the far mountains of Chamur." + +"Do you know," Mrs. Barrett said tentatively, "I have always heard that +Chinese doctors give horrid things for medicine--sharks' teeth, frogs' +feet, lizards' tails, and--and all sorts of dreadful things." + +Fong Wu proffered no enlightenment. + +"I am glad," she went on, "that I have learned better." + +After a while she began again: "Doubtless there is other wonderful +knowledge, besides that about doctoring, which Chinese gentlemen +possess." + +Fong Wu gave her a swift glance. "The followers of Laou-Tsze know many +things," he replied, and moved into the shadows as if to close their +talk. + +Toward morning, when he again gave her some tea, she spoke of something +that she had been turning over in her mind for hours. + +"You would not take money for helping me when I was hurt," she said, +"and I presume you will refuse to take it for what you are doing now. +But I should like you to know that Mr. Barrett and I will always, always +be your friends. If"--she looked across at him, no more a part of his +rude surroundings than was she--"if ever there comes a time when we +could be of use to you, you have only to tell us. Please remember that." + +"I will remember." + +"I cannot help but feel," she went on, and with a sincere desire to +prove her gratitude, rather than to pry out any secret of his, "that you +do not belong here--that you are in more trouble than I am. For what can +a man of your rank have to do in a little town like this!" + +He was not displeased with her. "The ancient sage," he said slowly, +"mounted himself upon a black ox and disappeared into the western +wilderness of Thibet. Doubtless others, too, seek seclusion for much +thinking." + +"But you are not the hermit kind," she declared boldly. "You belong to +those who stay and fight. Yet here you are, separated from your people +and your people's graves--alone and sorrowful." + +"As for my living people, they are best without me; as for my people +dead, I neither worship their dust nor propitiate devils. The wise one +said, 'Why talk forever on of men who are long gone?'" + +"Yet----" she persisted. + +He left the stove and came near her. "You are a woman, but you know +much. You are right. My heart is heavy for a thing I cannot do--for the +shattered dreams of the men of Hukwang." He beat his palms together +noiselessly, and moved to and fro on soft sandals. "Those dreams were of +a young China that was to take the place of the old--but that died +unborn." + +She followed his words with growing interest. "I have heard of those +dreams," she answered; "they were called 'reform.'" + +"Yes. And now all the dreamers are gone. They had voyaged to glean at +Harvard, Yale, Cornell, and in the halls of Oxford. There were 'five +loyal and six learned,' and they shed their blood at the Chen Chih Gate. +One there was who died the death that is meted a slave at the court of +the Son of Heaven. And one there was"--his face shrank up, as if swiftly +aging; his eyes became dark, upturning slits; as one who fears pursuit, +he cast a look behind him--"and one there was who escaped beyond the +blood-bathed walls of the Hidden City and gained the Sumatra Coast. +Then, leaving Perak, in the Straits Settlements, he finally set foot +upon a shore where men, without terror, may reach toward higher things." + +"And was he followed?" she whispered, comprehending. + +"He fled quietly. For long are the claws of the she-panther crouched on +the throne of the Mings." + +Both fell silent. The Chinese went back to the stove, where the fire was +dying. The white woman, wide awake, and lost in the myriad of scenes his +tale had conjured, sat by the table, for once almost forgetful of her +charge. + +The dragging hours of darkness past, Anthony Barrett found sane +consciousness. He was pale, yet strengthened by his long sleep, and he +was hungry. Relieved and overjoyed, Mrs. Barrett ministered to him. When +he had eaten and drunk, she helped him from the table to the stool, and +thence to his feet. Her arm about him, she led him to the door. Fong Wu +had felt his pulse and it had ticked back the desired message, so he was +going home. + +"Each night you are to come," Fong Wu said, as he bade them good-by. +"And soon, very soon, you may go from here to the place from which you +came." + +Mrs. Barrett turned at the door. A plea for pardon in misjudging him, +thankfulness for his help, sympathy for his exile--all these shone from +her eyes. But words failed her. She held out her hand. + +He seemed not to see it; he kept his arms at his sides. A "dog of a +Chinaman" had best not take a woman's hand. + +She went out, guiding her husband's footsteps, and helped him climb upon +the mustang from the height of the narrow porch. Then, taking the horse +by the bridle, she moved away down the slope to the road. + +Fong Wu did not follow, but closed the door gently and went back to the +ironing-table. A handkerchief lay beside it--a dainty linen square that +she had left. He picked it up and held it before him by two corners. +From it there wafted a faint, sweet breath. + +Fong Wu let it flutter to the floor. "The perfume of a plum petal," he +said softly, in English; "the perfume of a plum petal." + + + + +THE JUDGMENT OF MAN + +BY + +JAMES HOPPER + +_Copyright_, 1906, by McClure, Phillips and Company + +Reprinted from _Caybigan_ by permission + + +WE WERE sitting around the big center table in the _sala_ of the "House +of Guests" in Ilo-Ilo. We were teachers from Occidental Negros. It was +near Christmas; we had left our stations for the holidays--the cholera +had just swept them and the aftermath was not pleasant to +contemplate--and so we were leaning over the polished _narra_ table, +sipping a sweet, false Spanish wine from which we drew, not a convivial +spirit, but rather a quiet, reflective gloom. All the shell shutters +were drawn back; we could see the tin-roofed city gleam and crackle with +the heat, and beyond the lithe line of cocoanuts, the iridescent sea, +tugging the heart with offer of coolness. But, all of us, we knew the +promise to be Fake, monumental Fake, knew the alluring depths to be hot +as corruption, and full of sharks. + +Somebody in a monotonous voice was cataloguing the dead, enumerating +those of us who had been conquered by the climate, by the work, or +through their own inward flaws. He mentioned Miller with some sort of +disparaging gesture, and then Carter of Balangilang, who had been very +silent, suddenly burst into speech with singular fury. + +"Who are you, to judge him?" he shouted. "Who are you, eh? Who are we, +anyway, to judge him?" + +Headlong outbursts from Carter were nothing new to us, so we took no +offense. Finally some one said, "Well, he's dead," with that tone that +signifies final judgment, the last, best, most charitable thing which +can be said of the man being weighed. + +But Carter did not stop there. "You didn't know him, did you?" he asked. +"You didn't know him; tell me now, _did_ you know him?" He was still +extraordinarily angry. + +We did not answer. Really, we knew little of the dead man--excepting +that he was mean and small, and not worth knowing. He was mean, and he +was a coward; and to us in our uncompromising youth these were just the +unpardonable sins. Because of that we had left him alone; yes, come to +think of it, very much alone. And we knew little about him. + +"Here, I'll tell you what I know," Carter began again, in a more +conciliatory tone; "I'll tell you everything I know of him." He lit a +cheroot. + +"I first met him right here in Ilo-Ilo. I had crossed over for supplies; +he was fresh from Manila and wanted to get over to Bacolod to report to +the Sup. and be assigned to his station. When I saw him he was on the +_muelle_, surrounded by an army of bluffing _cargadores_. About twelve +of them had managed to get a finger upon his lone carpet-bag while it +was being carried down the gang-plank, and each and all of them wanted +to get paid for the job. He was in a horrible pickle; couldn't speak a +word of Spanish or Visayan. And the first thing he said when I had +extricated him, thanks to my vituperative knowledge of these sweet +tongues, was: 'If them niggahs, seh, think Ah'm a-goin' to learn their +cussed lingo, they're mahtily mistaken, seh!' + +"After that remark, coming straight from the heart, I hardly needed to +be told that he was from the South. He was from Mississippi. He was +gaunt, yellow, malarial, and slovenly. He had 'teached' for twenty +years, he said, but in spite of this there was about him something +indescribably rural, something of the sod--not the dignity, the +sturdiness of it, but rather of the pettiness, the sordidness of it. It +showed in his dirty, flapping garments, his unlaced shoes, his stubble +beard, in his indecent carelessness in expectorating the tobacco he was +ceaselessly chewing. But these, after all, were some of his minor +traits. I was soon to get an inkling of one of his major ones--his +prodigious meanness. For when I rushed about and finally found a lorcha +that was to sail for Bacolod and asked him to chip in with me on +provisions, he demurred. + +"'Ah'd like to git my own, seh,' he said in that decisive drawl of his. + +"'All right,' I said cheerfully, and went off and stocked up for two. My +instinct served me well. When, that evening, Miller walked up the +gang-plank, he carried only his carpet-bag, and that was flat and +hungry-looking as before. The next morning he shared my provisions +calmly and resolutely, with an air, almost, of conscious duty. Well, let +that go; before another day I was face to face with his other flaming +characteristic. + +"Out of Ilo-Ilo we had contrary winds at first; all night the lorcha--an +old grandmother of a craft, full of dry-rot spots as big as +woodpeckers' nests--flapped heavily about on impotent tacks, and when +the sun rose we found ourselves on the same spot from which we had +watched its setting. Toward ten o'clock, however, the monsoon veered, +and, wing-and-wing, the old boat, creaking in every joint as if she had +the dengue, grunted her way over flashing combers with a speed that +seemed almost indecent. Then, just as we were getting near enough to +catch the heated glitter of the Bacolod church-dome, to see the golden +thread of beach at the foot of the waving cocoanuts, the wind fell, +slap-bang, as suddenly as if God had said hush--and we stuck there, +motionless, upon a petrified sea. + +"I didn't stamp about and foam at the mouth; I'd been in these climes +too long. As for Miller, he was from Mississippi. We picked out a +comparatively clean spot on the deck, near the bow; we lay down on our +backs and relaxed our beings into infinite patience. We had been thus +for perhaps an hour; I was looking up at a little white cloud that +seemed receding, receding into the blue immensity behind it. Suddenly a +noise like thunder roared in my ears. The little cloud gave a great leap +back into its place; the roar dwindled into the voice of Miller, in +plaintive, disturbed drawl. 'What the deuce are the niggahs doing?' he +was saying. + +"And certainly the behavior of that Visayan crew was worthy of question. +Huddled quietly at the stern, one after another they were springing over +the rail into the small boat that was dragging behind, and even as I +looked the last man disappeared with the painter in his hand. At the +same moment I became aware of a strange noise. Down in the bowels of +the lorcha a weird, gentle commotion was going on, a multitudinous +'gluck-gluck' as of many bottles being emptied. A breath of hot, musty +air was sighing out of the hatch. Then the sea about the poop began to +rise,--to rise slowly, calmly, steadily, like milk in a heated pot. + +"'By the powers,' I shouted, 'the old tub is going down!' + +"It was true. There, upon the sunlit sea, beneath the serene sky, +silently, weirdly, unprovoked, the old boat, as if weary, was sinking in +one long sigh of lassitude. And we, of course, were going with it. A few +yards away from the stern-post was the jolly-boat with the crew. I +looked at them, and in my heart I could not condemn them for their sly +departure; they were all there, _arraiz_, wife, children, and crew, so +heaped together that they seemed only a meaningless tangle of arms and +legs and heads; the water was half an inch from the gunwale, and the one +man at the oars, hampered, paralyzed on all sides, was splashing +helplessly while the craft pivoted like a top. There was no anger in my +heart, yet I was not absolutely reconciled to the situation. I searched +the deck with my eyes, then from the jolly-boat the _arraiz_ obligingly +yelled, '_El biroto, el biroto_!' + +"And I remembered the rotten little canoe lashed amidships. It didn't +take us long to get it into the water (the water by that time was very +close at hand). I went carefully into it first so as to steady it for +Miller, and then, both of us at once, we saw that it would hold only +one. The bottom, a hollowed log, was stanch enough, but the sides, made +of pitched bamboo lattice, were sagging and torn. It would hold only +one. + +"'Well, who is it?' I asked. In my heart there was no craven panic, but +neither was there sacrifice. Some vague idea was in my mind, of deciding +who should get the place by some game of chance, tossing up a coin, for +instance. + +"But Miller said, 'Ah cain't affawd to take chances, seh; you must git +out.' + +"He spoke calmly, with great seriousness, but without undue emphasis--as +one enunciating an uncontrovertible natural law. I glanced up into his +face, and it was in harmony with his voice. He didn't seem particularly +scared; he was serious, that's all; his eyes were set in that peculiar, +wide-pupiled stare of the man contemplating his own fixed idea. + +"'No, seh; Ah cain't affawd it,' he repeated. + +"The absurdity of the thing suddenly tingled in me like wine. 'All +right!' I shouted, in a contagion of insanity; 'all right, take the +darned thing!' + +"And I got out. I got out and let him step stiffly into the boat, which +I obligingly sent spinning from the lorcha with one long, strong kick. +Then I was alone on the deck, which suddenly looked immense, stretched +on all sides, limitless as loneliness itself. A heavy torpor fell from +the skies and amid this general silence, this immobility, the cabin door +alone seemed to live, live in weird manifestation. It had been left +open, and now it was swinging and slamming to and fro jerkily, and +shuddering from top to bottom. Half in plan, half in mere irritation at +this senseless, incessant jigging, I sprang toward it and with one +nervous pull tore it, hinge and all, from the rotten woodwork. I heaved +it over the side, went in head first after it, took a few strokes and +lay, belly down, upon it. Just then the lorcha began to rise by the +head; the bowsprit went up slowly like a finger pointing solemnly to +heaven; then, without a sound, almost instantaneously, the whole fabric +disappeared. Across the now unoccupied space Miller and I rushed +smoothly toward each other, as if drawn by some gigantic magnet; our +crafts bumped gently, like two savages caressingly rubbing noses; they +swung apart a little and lay side by side, undulating slightly. + +"And we remained there, little black specks upon the flashing sea. Two +hundred yards away was the lorcha's boat; they had reshuffled themselves +more advantageously and were pulling slowly toward land. Not twenty feet +from me Miller sat upright in his canoe as if petrified. I was not so +badly off. The door floated me half out of water, and that was lukewarm, +so I knew that I could stand it a long time. What bothered me, though, +was that the blamed raft was not long enough; that is, the upper part of +my body being heavier, it took more door to support it, so that my feet +were projecting beyond the lower edge, and every second or so the +nibbling of some imaginary shark sent them flying up into the air in +undignified gymnastics. The consoling part of it was that Miller was +paying no notice. He still sat up, rigid, in his canoe, clutching the +sides stiffly and looking neither to right nor left. From where I lay I +could see the cords of his neck drawn taut, and his knuckles showing +white. + +"'Why the deuce don't you paddle to shore?' I shouted at length, taking +a sudden disgust of the situation. + +"He did not turn his head as he answered, 'Ah--Ah,' he stammered, the +words coming hard as hiccoughs out of his throat, 'Ah don't know haow.' + +"'Drop the sides of your boat and try,' I suggested. + +"He seemed to ponder carefully over this for a while. 'Ah think it's +safer to stay this-a-way,' he decided finally. + +"'But, good Lord, man,' I cried, angry at this calm stupidity, 'if +that's what you're going to do, you'd better get on this door here and +let me take the boat. I'll paddle ashore and come back for you.' + +"He turned his head slowly. He contemplated my raft long, carefully, +critically. + +"'Ah think Ah'll be safer heyah, seh,' he decided. 'It's a little bit o' +old door, and Ah reckon they's a heap of sharks around.' + +"After that I had little to say. Given the premises of the man, his +conclusions were unquestionable. And the premises were a selfishness so +tranquil, so ingenuous, so fresh, I might say, that I couldn't work up +the proper indignation. It was something so perfect as to challenge +admiration. On the whole, however, it afforded a poor subject for +conversation; so we remained there, taciturn, I on my door, +half-submerged in the tepid water, my heels flung up over my back, he in +his dugout, rigid, his hands clutching the sides as if he were trying to +hold up the craft out of the liquid abyss beneath. + +[Illustration: "NOT TWENTY FEET FROM ME MILLER SAT UPRIGHT IN HIS CANOE +AS IF PETRIFIED." FROM A PAINTING BY MERLE JOHNSON.] + +"And thus we were still when, just as the sun was setting somberly, a +velos full of chattering natives +picked us up. They landed us at Bacolod, and Miller left me to report to +the Sup. I departed before sun-up the next morning for my station. I +didn't want to see Miller again. + +"But I did. One night he came floundering through my pueblo. It was in +the middle of the rainy season. He wasn't exactly caked with mud; +rather, he seemed to ooze it out of every pore. He had been assigned to +Binalbagan, ten miles further down. I stared when he told me this. +Binalbagan was the worst post on the island, a musty, pestilential hole +with a sullenly hostile population, and he--well, inefficiency was +branded all over him in six-foot letters. I tried to stop him overnight, +but he would not do it, and I saw him splash off in the darkness, gaunt, +yellow, mournful. + +"I saw little of him after that. I was busy establishing new +barrio-schools, which were to give me excuses for long horseback rides +of inspection. I felt his presence down there in that vague way by which +you are aware of a person behind your back without turning around. +Rumors of his doings reached me. He was having a horrible time. On the +night of his arrival he had been invited to dinner by the Presidente, a +kind old primitive soul, but when he found that he was expected to sit +at the table with the family, he had stamped off, indignant, saying that +he didn't eat with no niggers. As I've said before, the town was +hostile, and this attitude did not help matters much. He couldn't get +the school moneys out of the Tesorero--an unmitigated rascal--but that +did not make much difference, for he had no pupils anyhow. He couldn't +speak a word of Spanish; no one in the town, of course, knew any +English--he must have been horribly lonely. He began to wear _camisas_, +like the natives. That's always a bad sign. It shows that the man has +discovered that there is no one to care how he dresses--that is, that +there is no longer any public opinion. It indicates something subtly +worse--that the man has ceased looking at himself, that the _I_ has +ceased criticising, judging, stiffening up the _me_,--in other words, +that there is no longer any conscience. That white suit, I tell you, is +a wonderful moral force; the white suit, put on fresh every morning, +heavily starched, buttoned up to the chin, is like an armor, +ironcladding you against the germ of decay buzzing about you, +ceaselessly vigilant for the little vulnerable spot. Miller wore +_camisas_, and then he began to go without shoes. I saw that myself. I +was riding through his pueblo on my way to Dent's, and I passed his +school. I looked into the open door as my head bobbed by at the height +of the stilt-raised floor. He was in his _camisa_ and barefooted; his +long neck stretched out of the collarless garment with a mournful, +stork-like expression. Squatting on the floor were three trouserless, +dirt-incrusted boys; he was pointing at a chart standing before their +eyes, and all together they were shouting some word that exploded away +down in their throats in tremendous effort and never seemed to reach +their lips. I called out and waved my hand as I went by, and when I +looked back, a hundred yards farther, I saw that he had come out upon +the bamboo platform outside of the door, gaping after me with his chin +thrown forward in that mournful, stork-like way--I should have gone +back. + +"With him, I must say, the _camisa_ did not mean all that I have +suggested, not the sort of degradation of which it is the symbol in +other men. The most extravagant imagination could not have linked him +with anything that smacked of romance, romance however sordid. His +vices, I had sized it, would come rather from an excess of calculation +than from a lack of it. No, that _camisa_ was just a sign of his +meanness, his prodigious meanness. And of that I was soon given an +extraordinary example. + +"I had with me a young fellow named Ledesma, whom I was training to be +assistant _maestro_. He was very bright, thirsty to learn, and extremely +curious of us white men. I don't believe that the actions of one of +them, for fifty miles around, ever escaped him, and every day he came to +me with some talk, some rumor, some gossip about my fellow-exiles which +he would relate to me with those strange interrogative inflections that +he had brought from his native dialect into English--as if perpetually +he were seeking explanation, confirmation. One morning he said to me: +'The _maestro_ Miller, he does not eat.' + +"'No?' I answered, absent-mindedly. + +"'No, he never eats,' he reiterated authoritatively, although that +peculiar Visayan inflection of which I have spoken gave him the air of +asking a question. + +"'Oh, I suppose he does,' I said, carelessly. + +"'He does not eat,' he repeated. 'Every one in Binalbagan say so. Since +he there, he has not bought anything at the store.' + +"'His _muchachos_ bring him chicken,' I suggested. + +"No, señor; he very funny; he has no _muchachos_; not one _muchacho_ has +he.' + +"'Well, he probably has canned provisions sent him.' + +"'No, señor; the _cargadores_ they say that never never have they +carried anything for him. He does not eat.' + +"'Very well,' I concluded, somewhat amused; 'he does not eat.' + +"The boy was silent for a minute, then, 'Señor Maestro,' he asked with +suspicious ingenuousness 'can Americans live without eating?' + +"So that I was not able to drop the subject as easily as I wished. And +coming to a forced consideration of it, I found that my anxiety to do so +was not very beautiful after all. A picture came to me--that of Miller +on his bamboo platform before his door, gazing mournfully after me, his +chin thrown forward. It did not leave me the day long, and at sundown I +saddled up and trotted off toward Binalbagan. + +"I didn't reach the pueblo that night, however. Only a mile from it I +plunged out of the moonlight into the pitch darkness of a hollow lane +cutting through Don Jaime's hacienda. Banana palms were growing thick to +right and left; the way was narrow and deep--it was a fine place for +cutthroats, but that avocation had lost much of its romantic charm from +the fact that, not three weeks before, an actual cutthroating had taken +place, a Chinese merchant having been boloed by _tusilanes_. Well, I was +trotting through, my right hand somewhat close to my holster, when from +the right, close, there came a soft, reiterated chopping noise. I pulled +up my pony. The sound kept up--a discreet, persistent chopping; then I +saw, up above, the moonlit top of a palm shuddering, though all about it +the others remained motionless, petrified as if of solid silver. It was +a very simple thing after all: some one in there was cutting down a palm +to get bananas, an occupation very common in the Philippines, and very +pacific, in spite of the ominous air given to it by the gigantic bolo +used. However, something prompted me to draw the midnight harvester out. + +"'Heh, _ladron_, what are you doing there?' I shouted in dialect. + +"'There was a most sudden silence. The chopping ceased, the palm stopped +vibrating. A vague form bounded down the lane, right up against my +horse's nose, rolled over, straightened up again, and vanished into the +darkness ahead. Unconsciously I spurred on after it. For a hundred yards +I galloped with nothing in sight. Then I caught a rapid view of the +thing as it burst through a shaft of moonlight piercing the glade, and +it showed as a man, a grotesque figure of a man in loose white +pantaloons. He was frightened, horribly frightened, all hunched up with +the frenzy to escape. An indistinct bundle was on his right shoulder. +Like a curtain the dark snapped shut behind him again, but I urged on +with a wild hallo, my blood all a-tingle with the exultation of the +chase. I gained--he must have been a lamentable runner, for my poor +little pony was staggering under my tumultuous weight. I could hear him +pant and sob a few yards in advance; then he came into sight, a dim, +loping whiteness ahead. Suddenly the bundle left his shoulder; something +rolled along the ground under my horse's hoofs--and I was standing on +my head in a soft, oozy place. I was mad, furiously mad. I picked myself +up, went back a few yards, and taking my pony by the nose picked _him_ +up. A touch of his throbbing flanks, however, warned me as I was putting +my foot into the stirrup. I left him there and thundered on foot down +the lane. I have said I was mad. 'Yip-yip-yah-ah, yip-yip-yah-ah!' I +yelled as I dashed on--a yell I had heard among California cattlemen. It +must have paralyzed that flying personage, for I gained upon him +shockingly. I could hear him pant, a queer, patient panting, a sigh +rather, a gentle, lamenting sighing, and the white _camisa_ flapped +ghostily in the darkness. Suddenly he burst out of obscurity, past the +plantation, into the glaring moonlight. And I--I stopped short, went +down on my hands and knees, and crouched back into the shadow. For the +man running was Miller; Miller, wild, sobbing, disheveled, his shoulders +drawn up to his ears in terrible weariness, his whole body taut with +fear, and scudding, scudding away, low along the ground, his chin +forward, mournful as a stork. Soon he was across the luminous space, and +then he disappeared into the darkness on the other side, flopped head +first into it as if hiding his face in a pillow. + +"I returned slowly to my horse. He was standing where I had left him, +his four legs far apart in a wide base. Between them was the thing cast +off by Miller which had thrown us. I examined it by the light of a box +of matches. It was a bunch of bananas, one of those gigantic clusters +which can be cut from the palms. I got on my horse and rode back home. + +"I didn't go to see him any more. A man who will steal bananas in a +country where they can be bought a dozen for one cent is too mean to be +worth visiting. I had another reason, too. It had dawned on me that +Miller probably did not care to see any of us, that he had come down to +a mode of life which would not leave him appreciative of confrontations +with past standards. It was almost charity to leave him to himself. + +"So I left him to himself, and he lived on in his pestilential little +hole, alone--lived a life more squalid every day. It wasn't at all a +healthy life, you can understand, no healthier physically than morally. +After a while I heard that he was looking bad, yellow as a lemon, and +the dengue cracking at his bones. I began to think of going to him after +all, of jerking him out of his rut by force, if necessary, making him +respect the traditions of his race. But just then came that Nichols +affair, and flaring, his other bad side--his abject +cowardice--reappeared to me. You remember the Nichols thing--boloed in +the dark between my town and Himamaylan. His _muchacho_ had jumped into +the ditch. Afterward he got out and ran back the whole way, fifteen +miles, to my place. I started down there. My idea was to pick up Miller +as I passed, then Dent a little further down, find the body, and perhaps +indications for White of the constabulary, to whom I had sent a +messenger and who could not reach the place till morning. Well, Miller +refused to go. He had caught hold of some rumor of the happening; he was +barricaded in his hut and was sitting on his bed, a big Colt's revolver +across his knees. He would not go, he said it plainly. 'No, seh; Ah +cain't take chances; Ah cain't affawd it.' He said this without much +fire, almost tranquilly, exactly as he had, you remember, at the time of +our shipwreck. It was not so amusing now, however. Here, on land, amid +this swarming, mysterious hostility, at this crisis, it seemed a +shocking betrayal of the solidarity that bound all us white men. A red +rage took possession of me. I stood there above him and poured out +vituperation for five good minutes. I found the most extraordinary +epithets; I lowered my voice and pierced him with venomous thrusts. He +took it all. He remained seated on his bed, his revolver across his +knees, looking straight at some spot on the floor; whenever I'd become +particularly effective he'd merely look harder at the spot, as if for +him it contained something of higher significance--a command, a rule, a +precept--I don't know what, and then he'd say, 'No, Ah cain't; Ah cain't +affawd it.' + +"I burst out of there, a-roar like a bombshell. I rode down to Dent; we +rode down to the place and did--what there was to be done. Miller I +never wanted to see again. + +"But I did. Some three weeks later a carrier came to me with a note--a +penciled scrawl upon a torn piece of paper. It read: + +"'I think I am dying. Can you come see me? 'MILLER.' + +"I went down right away. He was dead. He had died there, alone, in his +filthy little hut, in that God-forsaken pueblo, ten miles from the +nearest white man, ten thousand miles from his home. + +"I'll always remember our coming in. It was night. It had been raining +for thirty-six hours, and as we stepped into the unlighted hut, my +_muchacho_ and I, right away the floor grew sticky and slimy with the +mud on our feet, and as we groped about blindly, we seemed ankle-deep in +something greasy and abominable like gore. After a while the boy got a +torch outside, and as he flared it I caught sight of Miller on his cot, +backed up into one corner. He was sitting upright, staring straight +ahead and a little down, as if in careful consideration. As I stepped +toward him the pliable bamboo floor undulated; the movement was carried +to him and he began to nod, very gently and gravely. He seemed to be +saying: 'No, Ah cain't affawd it.' It was atrocious. Finally I was by +his side and he was again motionless, staring thoughtfully. Then I saw +he was considering. In his hands, which lay twined on his knees, were a +lot of little metallic oblongs. I disengaged them. The _muchacho_ drew +nearer, and with the torch over my shoulder I examined them. They were +photographs, cheap tintypes. The first was of a woman, a poor being, +sagging with overwork, a lamentable baby in her arms. The other pictures +were of children--six of them, boys and girls, of all ages from twelve +to three, and under each, in painful chirography, a name was +written--Lee Miller, Amy Miller, Geraldine Miller, and so on. + +"You don't understand, do you? For a moment I didn't. I stared stupidly +at those tintypes, shuffled and reshuffled them; the torch roared in my +ear. Then, suddenly, understanding came to me, sharp as a pang. He had a +wife and seven children. + +"A simple fact, wasn't it, a commonplace one, almost vulgar, you might +say. And yet what a change of view produced by it, what a dislocation of +judgment! I was like a man riding through a strange country, in a storm, +at night. It is dark, he cannot see, he has never seen the country, yet +as he rides on he begins to picture to himself the surroundings, his +imagination builds for him a landscape--a mountain there, a river here, +wind-streaming trees over there--and right away it exists, it _is_, it +has solidity, mass, life. Then suddenly comes a flash of lightning, a +second of light, and he is astounded, absolutely astounded to see the +real landscape different from that indestructible thing that his mind +had built. Thus it was with me. I had judged, oh, I had judged him +thoroughly, sized him up to a certainty, and bang, came the flare of +this new fact, this extremely commonplace fact, and I was all off. I +must begin to judge again, only it would never do that man any good. + +"A hundred memories came back to me, glared at me in the illumination of +that new fact. I remember the _camisa_, the bare feet. I saw him running +down the lane with his bunch of stolen bananas. I recalled that absurd +scene on the waters; I heard him say: 'No, seh; Ah cain't affawd to take +chances; Ah cain't affawd it.' + +"Of course he couldn't afford it. Think--a wife and seven children! + +"That night I went through his papers, putting things in order, and from +every leaf, every scrap, came corroboration of the new fact. He was one +of those pitiful pedagogues of the rural South, shiftless, +half-educated, inefficient. He had never been able to earn much, and +his family had always gently starved. Then had come the chance--the +golden chance--the Philippines and a thousand a year. He had taken the +bait, had come ten thousand miles to the spot of his maximum value. +Only, things had not gone quite right. Thanks to the beautiful red-tape +of the department, three months had gone before he had received his +first month's pay. Then it had come in Mex., and when he had succeeded +in changing it into gold it had dwindled to sixty dollars. Of course, he +had sent it all back, for even then it would take it six more weeks to +reach its destination, and sixty dollars is hardly too much to tide over +five months for a family of eight. These five months had to be caught up +in some way, so every month his salary, depreciated ten per cent by the +change, had gone across the waters. He wore _camisas_ and no shoes, he +stole bananas. And his value, shoeless, _camisa_-clothed, was sixty +dollars a month. He was just so much capital. He had to be careful of +that capital. + +"'Ah cain't affawd to take chances; Ah cain't affawd it.' Of course he +couldn't. + +"And so he had fought on blindly, stubbornly, and, at last, with that +pitiful faculty we have, all of us, of defeating our own plans, he had +killed himself, he had killed the capital, the golden goose. + +"Yes, I found confirmation, but, after all, I did not need it. I had +learned it all; understanding had come to me, swift, sharp, vital as a +pang, when in the roaring light of the torch I had looked upon the pale +little tintypes, the tintypes of Lee and Amy and Jackson and +Geraldine." + + + + +THE LEAGUE OF THE OLD MEN + +BY + +JACK LONDON + +_Copyright_, 1902, by the Macmillan Company Reprinted from CHILDREN OF +THE FROST by permission + + +AT THE Barracks a man was being tried for his life. He was an old man, a +native from the Whitefish River, which empties into the Yukon below Lake +Le Barge. All Dawson was wrought up over the affair, and likewise the +Yukon-dwellers for a thousand miles up and down. It has been the custom +of the land-robbing and sea-robbing Anglo-Saxon to give the law to +conquered peoples, and ofttimes this law is harsh. But in the case of +Imber the law for once seemed inadequate and weak. In the mathematical +nature of things, equity did not reside in the punishment to be accorded +him. The punishment was a foregone conclusion, there could be no doubt +of that; and though it was capital, Imber had but one life, while the +tale against him was one of scores. + +In fact, the blood of so many was upon his hands that the killings +attributed to him did not permit of precise enumeration. Smoking a pipe +by the trail-side or lounging around the stove, men made rough estimates +of the numbers that had perished at his hand. They had been whites, all +of them, these poor murdered people, and they had been slain singly, in +pairs, and in parties. And so purposeless and wanton had been these +killings, that they had long been a mystery to the mounted police, even +in the time of the captains, and later, when the creeks realized, and a +governor came from the Dominion to make the land pay for its prosperity. + +But more mysterious still was the coming of Imber to Dawson to give +himself up. It was in the late spring, when the Yukon was growling and +writhing under its ice, that the old Indian climbed painfully up the +bank from the river trail and stood blinking on the main street. Men who +had witnessed his advent, noted that he was weak and tottery, and that +he staggered over to a heap of cabin-logs and sat down. He sat there a +full day, staring straight before him at the unceasing tide of white men +that flooded past. Many a head jerked curiously to the side to meet his +stare, and more than one remark was dropped anent the old Siwash with so +strange a look upon his face. No end of men remembered afterward that +they had been struck by his extraordinary figure, and forever afterward +prided themselves upon their swift discernment of the unusual. + +But it remained for Dickensen, Little Dickensen, to be the hero of the +occasion. Little Dickensen had come into the land with great dreams and +a pocketful of cash; but with the cash the dreams vanished, and to earn +his passage back to the States he had accepted a clerical position with +the brokerage firm of Holbrook and Mason. Across the street from the +office of Holbrook and Mason was the heap of cabin-logs upon which Imber +sat. Dickensen looked out of the window at him before he went to lunch; +and when he came back from lunch he looked out of the window, and the +old Siwash was still there. + +Dickensen continued to look out of the window, and he, too, forever +afterward prided himself upon his swiftness of discernment. He was a +romantic little chap, and he likened the immobile old heathen the genius +of the Siwash race, gazing calm-eyed upon the hosts of the invading +Saxon. The hours swept along, but Imber did not vary his posture, did +not by a hair's-breadth move a muscle; and Dickensen remembered the man +who once sat upright on a sled in the main street where men passed to +and fro. They thought the man was resting, but later, when they touched +him, they found him stiff and cold, frozen to death in the midst of the +busy street. To undouble him, that he might fit into a coffin, they had +been forced to lug him to a fire and thaw him out a bit. Dickensen +shivered at the recollection. + +Later on, Dickensen went out on the sidewalk to smoke a cigar and cool +off; and a little later Emily Travis happened along. Emily Travis was +dainty and delicate and rare, and whether in London or Klondike, she +gowned herself as befitted the daughter of a millionaire mining +engineer. Little Dickensen deposited his cigar on an outside window +ledge where he could find it again, and lifted his hat. + +They chatted for ten minutes or so, when Emily Travis, glancing past +Dickensen's shoulder, gave a startled little scream. Dickensen turned +about to see, and was startled, too. Imber had crossed the street and +was standing there, a gaunt and hungry-looking shadow, his gaze riveted +upon the girl. + +"What do you want?" Little Dickensen demanded, tremulously plucky. + +Imber grunted and stalked up to Emily Travis. He looked her over, keenly +and carefully, every square inch of her. Especially did he appear +interested in her silky brown hair, and in the color of her cheek, +faintly sprayed and soft, like the downy bloom of a butterfly wing. He +walked around her, surveying her with the calculating eye of a man who +studies the lines upon which a horse or a boat is builded. In the course +of his circuit the pink shell of her ear came between his eye and the +westering sun, and he stopped to contemplate its rosy transparency. Then +he returned to her face and looked long and intently into her blue eyes. +He grunted and laid a hand on her arm midway between the shoulder and +elbow. With his other hand he lifted her forearm and doubled it back. +Disgust and wonder showed in his face, and he dropped her arm with a +contemptuous grunt. Then he muttered a few guttural syllables, turned +his back upon her, and addressed himself to Dickensen. + +Dickensen could not understand his speech, and Emily Travis laughed. +Imber turned from one to the other, frowning, but both shook their +heads. He was about to go away, when she called out: + +"Oh, Jimmy! Come here!" + +Jimmy came from the other side of the street. He was a big, hulking +Indian clad in approved white-man style, with an Eldorado king's +sombrero on his head. He talked with Imber, haltingly, with throaty +spasms. Jimmy was a Sitkan, possessed of no more than a passing +knowledge of the interior dialects. + +"Him Whitefish man," he said to Emily Travis. "Me savve um talk no very +much. Him want to look see chief white man." + +"The Governor," suggested Dickensen. + +Jimmy talked some more with the Whitefish man, and his face went grave +and puzzled. + +"I t'ink um want Cap'n Alexander," he explained. "Him say um kill white +man, white woman, white boy, plenty kill um white people. Him want to +die." + +"'Insane, I guess," said Dickensen. + +"What you call dat?" queried Jimmy. + +Dickensen thrust a finger figuratively inside his head and imparted a +rotary motion thereto. + +"Mebbe so, mebbe so," said Jimmy, returning to Imber, who still demanded +the chief man of the white men. + +A mounted policeman (unmounted for Klondike service) joined the group +and heard Imber's wish repeated. He was a stalwart young fellow, +broad-shouldered, deep-chested, legs cleanly built and stretched wide +apart, and tall though Imber was, he towered above him by half a head. +His eyes were cool, and gray, and steady, and he carried himself with +the peculiar confidence of power that is bred of blood and tradition. +His splendid masculinity was emphasized by his excessive boyishness,--he +was a mere lad,--and his smooth cheek promised a blush as willingly as +the cheek of a maid. + +Imber was drawn to him at once. The fire leaped into his eyes at sight +of a sabre slash that scarred his cheek. He ran a withered hand down the +young fellow's leg and caressed the swelling thew. He smote the broad +chest with his knuckles, and pressed and prodded the thick muscle-pads +that covered the shoulders like a cuirass. The group had been added to +by curious passers-by--husky miners, mountaineers, and frontiersmen, +sons of the long-legged and broad-shouldered generations. Imber glanced +from one to another, then he spoke aloud in the Whitefish tongue. + +"What did he say?" asked Dickensen. + +"Him say um all the same one man, dat p'liceman," Jimmy interpreted. + +Little Dickensen was little, and what of Miss Travis, he felt sorry for +having asked the question. + +The policeman was sorry for him and stepped into the breach. "I fancy +there may be something in his story. I'll take him up to the captain for +examination. Tell him to come along with me, Jimmy." + +Jimmy indulged in more throaty spasms, and Imber grunted and looked +satisfied. + +"But ask him what he said, Jimmy, and what he meant when he took hold of +my arm." + +So spoke Emily Travis, and Jimmy put the question and received the +answer. + +"Him say you no afraid," said Jimmy. + +Emily Travis looked pleased. + +"Him say you no _skookum_, no strong, all the same very soft like little +baby. Him break you, in um two hands, to little pieces. Him t'ink much +funny, very strange, how you can be mother of men so big, so strong, +like dat p'liceman." + +Emily Travers kept her eyes up and unfaltering, but her cheeks were +sprayed with scarlet. Little Dickensen blushed and was quite +embarrassed. The policeman's face blazed with his boy's blood. + +"Come along, you," he said gruffly, setting his shoulder to the crowd +and forcing a way. + +Thus it was that Imber found his way to the Barracks, where he made full +and voluntary confession, and from the precincts of which he never +emerged. + + * * * * * + +Imber looked very tired. The fatigue of hopelessness and age was in his +face. His shoulders drooped depressingly, and his eyes were lack-luster. +His mop of hair should have been white, but sun--and weather-beat had +burned and bitten it so that it hung limp and lifeless and colorless. He +took no interest in what went on around him. The court-room was jammed +with the men of the creeks and trails, and there was an ominous note in +the rumble and grumble of their low-pitched voices, which came to his +ears like the growl of the sea from deep caverns. + +He sat close by a window, and his apathetic eyes rested now and again on +the dreary scene without. The sky was overcast, and a gray drizzle was +falling. It was flood-time on the Yukon. The ice was gone, and the river +was up in the town. Back and forth on the main street, in canoes and +poling-boats, passed the people that never rested. Often he saw these +boats turn aside from the street and enter the flooded square that +marked the Barracks' parade-ground. Sometimes they disappeared beneath +him, and he heard them jar against the house-logs and their occupants +scramble in through the window. After that came the slush of water +against men's legs as they waded across the lower room and mounted the +stairs. Then they appeared in the doorway, with doffed hats and +dripping sea-boots, and added themselves to the waiting crowd. + +And while they centered their looks on him, and in grim anticipation +enjoyed the penalty he was to pay, Imber looked at them, and mused on +their ways, and on their Law that never slept, but went on unceasing, in +good times and bad, in flood and famine, through trouble and terror and +death, and which would go on unceasing, it seemed to him, to the end of +time. + +A man rapped sharply on a table, and the conversation droned away into +silence. Imber looked at the man. He seemed one in authority, yet Imber +divined the square-browed man who sat by a desk farther back to be the +one chief over them all and over the man who had rapped. Another man by +the same table uprose and began to read aloud from many fine sheets of +paper. At the top of each sheet he cleared his throat, at the bottom +moistened his fingers. Imber did not understand his speech, but the +others did, and he knew that it made them angry. Sometimes it made them +very angry, and once a man cursed him, in single syllables, stinging and +tense, till a man at the table rapped him to silence. + +For an interminable period the man read. His monotonous, sing-song +utterance lured Imber to dreaming, and he was dreaming deeply when the +man ceased. A voice spoke to him in his own Whitefish tongue, and he +roused up, without surprise, to look upon the face of his sister's son, +a young man who had wandered away years agone to make his dwelling with +the whites. + +"Thou dost not remember me," he said by way of greeting. + +"Nay," Imber answered. "Thou art Howkan who went away. Thy mother be +dead." + +"She was an old woman," said Howkan. + +But Imber did not hear, and Howkan, with hand upon his shoulder, roused +him again. + +"I shall speak to thee what the man has spoken, which is the tale of the +troubles thou hast done and which thou hast told, O fool, to the Captain +Alexander. And thou shalt understand and say if it be true talk or talk +not true. It is so commanded." + +Howkan had fallen among the mission folk and been taught by them to read +and write. In his hands he held the many fine sheets from which the man +had read aloud and which had been taken down by a clerk when Imber first +made confession, through the mouth of Jimmy, to Captain Alexander. +Howkan began to read. Imber listened for a space, when a wonderment rose +up in his face and he broke in abruptly. + +"That be my talk, Howkan. Yet from thy lips it comes when thy ears have +not heard." + +Howkan smirked with self-appreciation. His hair was parted in the +middle. "Nay, from the paper it comes, O Imber. Never have my ears +heard. From the paper it comes, through my eyes, into my head, and out +of my mouth to thee. Thus it comes." + +"Thus it comes? It be there in the paper?" Imber's voice sank in +whisperful awe as he crackled the sheets 'twixt thumb and finger and +stared at the charactery scrawled thereon. "It be a great medicine, +Howkan, and thou art a worker of wonders." + +"It be nothing, it be nothing," the young man responded carelessly and +pridefully. He read at hazard from the document: "_In that year, before +the break of the ice, came an old man, and a boy who was lame of one +foot. These also did I kill, and the old man made much noise_----" + +"It be true," Imber interrupted breathlessly, "He made much noise and +would not die for a long time. But how dost thou know, Howkan? The chief +man of the white men told thee, mayhap? No one beheld me, and him alone +have I told." + +Howkan shook his head with impatience. "Have I not told thee it be there +in the paper, O fool?" + +Imber stared hard at the ink-scrawled surface. "As the hunter looks upon +the snow and says, Here but yesterday there passed a rabbit; and here by +the willow scrub it stood and listened, and heard, and was afraid; and +here it turned upon its trail; and here it went with great swiftness, +leaping wide; and here, with greater swiftness and wider leapings, came +a lynx; and here, where the claws cut deep into the snow, the lynx made +a very great leap; and here it struck, with the rabbit under and rolling +belly up; and here leads off the trail of the lynx alone, and there is +no more rabbit,--as the hunter looks upon the markings of the snow and +says thus and so and here, dost thou, too, look upon the paper and say +thus and so and here be the things old Imber hath done?" + +"Even so," said Howkan. "And now do thou listen, and keep thy woman's +tongue between thy teeth till thou art called upon for speech." + +Thereafter, and for a long time, Howkan read to him the confession, and +Imber remained musing and silent. At the end, he said: + +"It be my talk, and true talk, but I am grown old, Howkan, and forgotten +things come back to me which were well for the head man there to know. +First, there was the man who came over the Ice Mountains, with cunning +traps made of iron, who sought the beaver of the Whitefish. Him I slew. +And there were three men seeking gold on the Whitefish long ago. Them +also I slew, and left them to the wolverines. And at the Five Fingers +there was a man with a raft and much meat." + +At the moments when Imber paused to remember, Howkan translated and a +clerk reduced to writing. The court-room listened stolidly to each +unadorned little tragedy, till Imber told of a red-haired man whose eyes +were crossed and whom he had killed with a remarkably long shot. + +"Hell," said a man in the forefront of the onlookers. He said it +soulfully and sorrowfully. He was red-haired. "Hell," he repeated. "That +was my brother Bill." And at regular intervals throughout the session, +his solemn "Hell" was heard in the court-room; nor did his comrades +check him, nor did the man at the table rap him to order. + +Imber's head drooped once more, and his eyes went dull, as though a film +rose up and covered them from the world. And he dreamed as only age can +dream upon the colossal futility of youth. + +Later, Howkan roused him again, saying: "Stand up, O Imber. It be +commanded that thou tellest why you did these troubles, and slew these +people, and at the end journeyed here seeking the Law." + +Imber rose feebly to his feet and swayed back and forth. He began to +speak in a low and faintly rumbling voice, but Howkan interrupted him. + +"This old man, he is damn crazy," he said in English to the +square-browed man. "His talk is foolish and like that of a child." + +"We will hear his talk which is like that of a child," said the +square-browed man. "And we will hear it, word for word, as he speaks it. +Do you understand?" + +Howkan understood, and Imber's eyes flashed for he had witnessed the +play between his sister's son and the man in authority. And then began +the story, the epic of a bronze patriot which might well itself be +wrought into bronze for the generations unborn. The crowd fell strangely +silent, and the square-browed judge leaned head on hand and pondered his +soul and the soul of his race. Only was heard the deep tones of Imber, +rhythmically alternating with the shrill voice of the interpreter, and +now and again, like the bell of the Lord, the wondering and meditative +"Hell" of the red-haired man. + +"I am Imber of the Whitefish people." So ran the interpretation of +Howkan, whose inherent barbarism gripped hold of him, and who lost his +mission culture and veneered civilization as he caught the savage ring +and rhythm of old Imber's tale. "My father was Otsbaok, a strong man. +The land was warm with sunshine and gladness when I was a boy. The +people did not hunger after strange things, nor hearken to new voices, +and the ways of their fathers were their ways. The women found favor in +the eyes of the young men, and the young men looked upon them with +content. Babes hung at the breasts of the women, and they were +heavy-hipped with increase of the tribe. Men were men in those days. In +peace and plenty, and in war and famine, they were men. + +"At that time there was more fish in the water than now, and more meat +in the forest. Our dogs were wolves, warm with thick hides and hard to +the frost and storm. And as with our dogs, so with us, for we were +likewise hard to the frost and storm. And when the Pellys came into our +land we slew them and were slain. For we were men, we Whitefish, and our +fathers and our fathers' fathers had fought against the Pellys and +determined the bounds of the land. + +"As I say, with our dogs, so with us. And one day came the first white +man. He dragged himself, so, on hand and knee, in the snow. And his skin +was stretched tight, and his bones were sharp beneath. Never was such a +man, we thought, and we wondered of what strange tribe he was, and of +its land. And he was weak, most weak, like a little child, so that we +gave him a place by the fire, and warm furs to lie upon, and we gave him +food as little children are given food. + +"And with him was a dog, large as three of our dogs, and very weak. The +hair of this dog was short, and not warm, and the tail was frozen so +that the end fell off. And this strange dog we fed, and bedded by the +fire, and fought from it our dogs, which else would have killed him. And +what of the moose meat and the sun-dried salmon, the man and dog took +strength to themselves; and what of the strength, they became big and +unafraid. And the man spoke loud words and laughed at the old men and +young men, and looked boldly upon the maidens. And the dog fought with +our dogs, and for all of his short hair and softness slew three of them +in one day. + +"When we asked the man concerning his people he said, 'I have many +brothers,' and laughed in a way that was not good. And when he was in +his full strength he went away, and with him went Noda, daughter to the +chief. First, after that, was one of our bitches brought to pup. And +never was there such a breed of dogs,--big-headed, thick-jawed, and +short-haired, and helpless. Well do I remember my father, Otsbaok, a +strong man. His face was black with anger at such helplessness, and he +took a stone, so, and so, and there was no more helplessness. And two +summers after that came Noda back to us with a man-child in the hollow +of her arm. + +"And that was the beginning. Came a second white man, with short-haired +dogs, which he left behind him when he went. And with him went six of +our strongest dogs, for which, in trade, he had given Koo-So-Tee, my +mother's brother, a wonderful pistol that fired with great swiftness six +times. And Koo-So-Tee was very big, what of the pistol, and laughed at +our bows and arrows. 'Woman's things,' he called them, and went forth +against the bald-face grizzly, with the pistol in his hand. Now it be +known that it is not good to hunt the bald-face with a pistol, but how +were we to know? and how was Koo-So-Tee to know? So he went against the +bald-face, very brave, and fired the pistol with great swiftness six +times; and the bald-face but grunted and broke in his breast like it +were an egg and like honey from a bee's nest dripped the brains of +Koo-So-Tee upon the ground. He was a good hunter, and there was no one +to bring meat to his squaw and children. And we were bitter, and we said +'That which for the white men is well, is for us not well.' And this be +true. There be many white men and fat, but their ways have made us few +and lean. + +"Came the third white man, with great wealth of all manner of wonderful +foods and things. And twenty of our strongest dogs he took from us in +trade. Also, what of presents and great promises, ten of our young +hunters did he take with him on a journey which fared no man knew where. +It is said they died in the snow of the Ice Mountains where man has +never been, or in the Hills of Silence which are beyond the edge of the +earth. Be that as it may, dogs and young hunters were seen never again +by the Whitefish people. + +"And more white men came with the years, and ever, with pay and +presents, they led the young men away with them. And sometimes the young +men came back with strange tales of dangers and toils in the lands +beyond the Pellys, and sometimes they did not come back. And we said: +'If they be unafraid of life, these white men, it is because they have +many lives; but we be few by the Whitefish, and the young men shall go +away no more.' But the young men did go away; and the young women went +also; and we were very wroth. + +"It be true, we ate flour, and salt pork, and drank tea which was a +great delight; only, when we could not get tea, it was very bad and we +became short of speech and quick of anger. So we grew to hunger for the +things the white men brought in trade. Trade! trade! all the time was it +trade! One winter we sold our meat for clocks that would not go, and +watches with broken guts, and files worn smooth, and pistols without +cartridges and worthless. And then came famine, and we were without +meat, and two-score died ere the break of spring. + +"'Now are we grown weak,' we said; 'and the Pellys will fall upon us, +and our bounds be overthrown.' But as it fared with us, so had it fared +with the Pellys, and they were too weak to come against us. + +"My father, Otsbaok, a strong man, was now old and very wise. And he +spoke to the chief, saying: 'Behold, our dogs be worthless. No longer +are they thick-furred and strong, and they die in the frost and harness. +Let us go into the village and kill them, saving only the wolf ones, and +these let us tie out in the night that they may mate with the wild +wolves of the forest. Thus shall we have dogs warm and strong again.' + +"And his word was harkened to, and we Whitefish became known for our +dogs, which were the best in the land. But known we were not for +ourselves. The best of our young men and women had gone away with the +white men to wander on trail and river to far places. And the young +women came back old and broken, as Noda had come, or they came not at +all. And the young men came back to sit by our fires for a time, full +of ill speech and rough ways, drinking evil drinks and gambling through +long nights and days, with a great unrest always in their hearts, till +the call of the white men came to them and they went away again to the +unknown places. And they were without honor and respect, jeering the +old-time customs and laughing in the faces of chief and shamans. + +"As I say, we were become a weak breed, we Whitefish. We sold our warm +skins and furs for tobacco and whiskey and thin cotton things that left +us shivering in the cold. And the coughing sickness came upon us, and +men and women coughed and sweated through the long nights, and the +hunters on trail spat blood upon the snow. And now one, and now another, +bled swiftly from the mouth and died. And the women bore few children, +and those they bore were weak and given to sickness. And other +sicknesses came to us from the white men, the like of which we had never +known and could not understand. Smallpox, likewise measles, have I heard +these sicknesses named, and we died of them as die the salmon in the +still eddies when in the fall their eggs are spawned and there is no +longer need for them to live. + +"And yet, and here be the strangeness of it, the white men come as the +breath of death; all their ways lead to death, their nostrils are filled +with it; and yet they do not die. Theirs the whiskey, and tobacco, and +short-haired dogs; theirs the many sicknesses, the smallpox and measles, +the coughing and mouth-bleeding; theirs the white skin, and softness to +the frost and storm; and theirs the pistols that shoot six times very +swift and are worthless. And yet they grow fat on their many ills, and +prosper, and lay a heavy hand over all the world and tread mightily upon +its peoples. And their women, too, are soft as little babes, most +breakable and never broken, the mothers of men. And out of all this +softness, and sickness, and weakness, come strength, and power, and +authority. They be gods, or devils, as the case may be. I do not know. +What do I know, I, old Imber of the Whitefish? Only do I know that they +are past understanding, these white men, far-wanderers and fighters over +the earth that they be. + +"As I say, the meat in the forest became less and less. It be true, the +white man's gun is most excellent and kills a long way off; but of what +worth the gun, when there is no meat to kill? When I was a boy on the +Whitefish there was moose on every hill, and each year came the caribou +uncountable. But now the hunter may take the trail ten days and not one +moose gladden his eyes, while the caribou uncountable come no more at +all. Small worth the gun, I say, killing a long way off, when there be +nothing to kill. + +[Illustration: "ALL THEIR WAYS LEAD TO DEATH" +FROM A PAINTING BY MAYNARD DIXON.] + +"And I, Imber, pondered upon these things, watching the while the +Whitefish, and the Pellys, and all the tribes of the land, perishing as +perished the meat of the forest. Long I pondered. I talked with the +shamans and the old men who were wise. I went apart that the sounds of +the village might not disturb me, and I ate no meat, so that my belly +should not press upon me and make me slow of eye and ear. I sat long and +sleepless in the forest, wide-eyed for the sign, my ears patient and +keen for the word that +was to come. And I wandered alone in the blackness of night to the river +bank, where was wind-moaning and sobbing of water, and where I sought +wisdom from the ghosts of old shamans in the trees and dead and gone. + +"And in the end, as in a vision, came to me the short-haired and +detestable dogs, and the way seemed plain. By the wisdom of Otsbaok, my +father and a strong man, had the blood of our own wolf-dogs been kept +clean, wherefore had they remained warm of hide and strong in the +harness. So I returned to my village and made oration to the men. 'This +be a tribe, these white men,' I said. 'A very large tribe, and doubtless +there is no longer meat in their land, and they are come among us to +make a new land for themselves. But they weaken us, and we die. They are +a very hungry folk. Already has our meat gone from us, and it were well, +if we would live, that we deal by them as we have dealt by their dogs.' + +"And further oration I made, counseling fight. And the men of the +Whitefish listened, and some said one thing, and some another, and some +spoke of other and worthless things, and no man made brave talk of deeds +and war. But while the young men were weak as water and afraid, I +watched that the old men sat silent, and that in their eyes fires came +and went. And later, when the village slept and no one knew, I drew the +old men away into the forest and made more talk. And now we were agreed, +and we remembered the good young days, and the free land, and the times +of plenty, and the gladness and sunshine; and we called ourselves +brothers, and swore great secrecy, and a mighty oath to cleanse the +land of the evil breed that had come upon it. It be plain we were fools, +but how were we to know, we old men of the Whitefish? + +"And to hearten the others, I did the first deed. I kept guard upon the +Yukon till the first canoe came down. In it were two white men, and when +I stood upright upon the bank and raised my hand they changed their +course and drove in to me. And as the man in the bow lifted his head, +so, that he might know wherefore I wanted him, my arrow sang through the +air straight to his throat, and he knew. The second man, who held paddle +in the stern, had his rifle half to his shoulder when the first of my +three spear-casts smote him. + +"'These be the first,' I said, when the old men had gathered to me. +'Later we will bind together all the old men of all the tribes, and +after that the young men who remain strong, and the work will become +easy.' + +"And then the two dead white men we cast into the river. And of the +canoe, which was a very good canoe, we made a fire, and a fire, also, of +the things within the canoe. But first we looked at the things, and they +were pouches of leather which we cut open with our knives. And inside +these pouches were many papers, like that from which thou hast read, O +Howkan, with markings on them which we marveled at and could not +understand. Now, I am become wise, and I know them for the speech of men +as thou hast told me." + +A whisper and buzz went around the court-room when Howkan finished +interpreting the affair of the canoe, and one man's voice spoke up: +"That was the lost '91 mail, Peter James and Delaney bringing it in and +last spoken at Le Barge by Matthews going out." The clerk scratched +steadily away, and another paragraph was added to the history of the +North. + +"There be little more," Imber went on slowly. "It be there on the paper, +the things we did. We were old men, and we did not understand. Even I, +Imber, do not now understand. Secretly we slew, and continued to slay, +for with our years we were crafty and we had learned the swiftness of +going without haste. When white men came among us with black looks and +rough words, and took away six of the young men with irons binding them +helpless, we knew we must slay wider and farther. And one by one we old +men departed up river and down to the unknown lands. It was a brave +thing. Old we were, and unafraid, but the fear of far places is a +terrible fear to men who are old. + +"So we slew, without haste, and craftily. On the Chilkoot and in the +Delta we slew, from the passes to the sea, wherever the white men camped +or broke their trails. It be true, they died, but it was without worth. +Ever did they come over the mountains, ever did they grow and grow, +while we, being old, became less and less. I remember, by the Caribou +Crossing, the camp of a white man. He was a very little white man, and +three of the old men came upon him in his sleep. And the next day I came +upon the four of them. The white man alone still breathed, and there was +breath in him to curse me once and well before he died. + +"And so it went, now one old man, and now another. Sometimes the word +reached us long after of how they died, and sometimes it did not reach +us. And the old men of the other tribes were weak and afraid, and would +not join with us. As I say, one by one, till I alone was left. I am +Imber, of the Whitefish people. My father was Otsbaok, a strong man. +There are no Whitefish now. Of the old men I am the last. The young men +and young women are gone away, some to live with the Pellys, some with +the Salmons, and more with the white men. I am very old, and very tired, +and it being vain fighting the Law, as thou sayest, Howkan, I am come +seeking the Law." + +"O Imber, thou art indeed a fool," said Howkan. + +But Imber was dreaming. The square-browed judge likewise dreamed, and +all his race rose up before him in a mighty phantasmagoria--his +steel-shod, mail-clad race, the law-giver and world-maker among the +families of men. He saw it dawn red-flickering across the dark forests +and sullen seas; he saw it blaze, bloody and red, to full and triumphant +noon; and down the shaded slope he saw the blood-red sands dropping into +night. And through it all he observed the Law, pitiless and potent, ever +unswerving and ever ordaining, greater than the motes of men who +fulfilled it or were crushed by it, even as it was greater than he, his +heart speaking for softness. + + + + +DOWN THE FLUME WITH THE SNEATH PIANO + +BY + +BAILEY MILLARD + +Reprinted from _The Century Magazine_ by permission + + +I HAD halted at Camp Five to catch my breath. This flying down a Sierran +lumber-flume, scurrying through the heady air like another Phaeton, was +too full of thrills to be taken all in one gasp. I dropped limply into +the rawhide-bottomed chair under the awning in front of the big board +shanty which was on stilts beside the airy flume, and gazed on down the +long, gleaming, tragic, watery way to the next steep slide. Then I +looked at the frail little flume-boat which had borne Oram Sheets and me +thus far on our hazardous journey to the valley. Perhaps I shivered a +bit at the prospect of more of this hair-raising adventure. At any rate, +Oram, the intrepid flume-herder, laughed, dug his picaroon into a log, +and asked: + +"Sorry yeh come? Wal, it does git onto a man's nerve the first trip. +Strange so many brash ones like you wanter try, but few on 'em ever dast +git in ag'in. But I've be'n down so often." Then he peered about the +cabin. "Looks like none o' the boys was to home. Wish they was; they +might git us up a little dinner. It's jest twelve." + +He went inside the open door, and I heard him foraging about, the +shanty echoing hollowly to the clumping of his big boots. By and by his +nasal note was resumed: + +"Come in, pardner! Here's a great find: a big can o' green gages an' a +hunk o' jerk an' a lot o' cold biscuits." + +Inside, with my legs under the greasy, coverless table, I chewed the +jerk like one who was determined to give his jaws the benefit of +strenuous physical culture, and listened while Oram rattled on, with his +mouth full of the sodden, half-baked biscuits. + +"You mightn't think it," said he, "but three years ago this here was the +most scrumptious camp on the hull flume. Ol' man Hemenway lived here +then with his daughter Jess. She kep' house fer him. Jess was a great +gal. Every man along the flume, from Skyland to Mill Flat, was in love +with her. Shape? You couldn't beat that there gal for figger if yeh was +to round up every actress in the country. She had a pair o' big round +baby-blue eyes, an' was as pretty as any o' them there cigarette +picters. A little on the strawbary-blonde, but not too much red in her +hair, an' yet spunky as a badger when yeh teased her. + +"The boys down this way didn't have much show. It looked like Jess had +hit it off with Jud Brusie, a big, husky, clean-lookin' chap up to the +h'ist. Jud used ter send her down notes stuck in sticks wedged inter the +clamps, an' he used ter sneak down this way on Sundays when he'd git a +chanst. She'd meet him up to the Riffles there by that big bunch o' +yaller pines we passed. He didn't dast come down here nary time till ol' +man Hemenway he got laid up with a busted laig from slippin' off the +trestle in the snow. That there was Jud's show ter git in his fine work. +Used ter bring down deer-meat for the ol' man, an' sody-water from that +there spoutin' spring up ter Crazy Cañon; an' it begun to look like +Hemenway'd give in an' let him have her. But he seemed to hold off. + +"The boys used ter nearly josh the life out o' Jud. One fellow--his name +was Phil Pettis--was skunkin' mean enough to read a note Jud sent down +oncet an' tell about it roun' Skyland; but that was the only time any of +'em ever done anything like that, fer Jud jest laid fer Phil an' went +through him like a buzz-saw an' chucked him inter the flume. + +"No, it didn't kill Phil, but he got tol'able well used up. His clothes +was nearly all tore off, an' his hands got some bruised where he caught +on to the aidges before he got a holt an' lifted himself out in a still +place. He'd be'n all right only he got mixed up with a string o' lumber +that was a-comin' down, an' so he had to go to the hospital. + +"One thing about Jess--she was a singer all right. I ain't never heer'd +ary one o' them there the-_ay_-ter gals that could beat her singin'. She +warbled like a lark with his belly full o' grubworms. It was wuth ridin' +a clamp from here to Mill Flat to hear her sing. She had a couple o' +hymn-books an' a stack o' them coon songs the newspapers gives away, an' +I tell yeh, she'd sing them there songs like she'd knowed 'em all her +life. Picked out the tunes some ways on a little string-thing like a +sawed-off guitar. Sounds like muskeeters hummin' aroun'. Yes, a +mandy-linn--that's it. But that there mandy-linn didn't soot her a +little bit. She was crazy ter have a pianner. I heer'd her tell her paw, +who was aroun' ag'in workin' after his busted laig got well, she'd give +ten years o' her life for any ol' cheap pianner he could skeer up fer +her. + +"'Wal,' says he, 'how in tunket am I a-goin' ter git anything like +that--thirty miles off'n the road, an' nary way o' freightin' it up or +down the cañon to this camp?' + +"'Couldn't yeh have it brung up to Skyland by the stage road,' asts she, +'an' then have it rafted down the flume? Jest a little one?' she asts +very earnest-like. + +"'Gee whittaker!' says he, laughin' all over. 'You'll be a-wantin' 'em +to send yeh down a parlor-keer nex'.' + +"Then she gits hot in the collar an' cries an' takes on, an' Jud, who +was a-hangin' aroun', has to walk her up to the Riffles; an' he must 'a' +comforted her a heap, fer she comes back alone, singin,' 'Nearer, my +God, to Thee,' like a angel. + +"The' was a big spill up to the Devil's Gate,--one o' them places back +there where the flume hangs onto the side o' the cliff, about half a +mile above the bottom o' the gulch,--an' Jud Brusie an' all hands has to +work there three days an' nights ter git things straightened out. Jud +worked so derned hard, up all night an' hangin' on ter the ropes he was +let up an' down by till yeh'd think he was ready to drop, that the +soop'rintendent said he'd make Jud flume boss when he got back from Noo +York, where he was a-goin' fer a few months. The soop'rintendent--that's +Mr. Sneath--went over the hull flume with Jud a little while before he +lit out for the East, p'intin' things out ter him that he wanted did +when he got back. I was down here flume-herdin' at Five when him an' Jud +come along in a dude-lookin' flume-boat, rigged out in great style. I +stopped 'em back there a ways with my picaroon, when they sung out, an' +they walked down here on the side planks. Jest as they got near the camp +the soop'rintendent he stopped like he'd struck a rotten plank an' +stared at the house. + +"'Who's that singin'?' says he. + +"'Miss. Hemenway,' says Jud, proud-like. + +"'She's got an awful sweet voice,' says the ol' man. 'It oughter be +trained. She ought to go to a hot-house'--or something like that. +'Conservatory?' Yes, that's it. + +"'She's mighty anxious to l'arn,' says Jud. 'She wants a pianner awful +bad.' + +"'Does she?' says the soop'rintendent. 'She oughter have one.' + +"When he come along to the house he says to Jess, who stuck her head +outer the door an' looked kinder skeer'd-like, says he, 'I wish yeh'd +sing a few songs fer me.' + +"Wal, yeh could see wal enough that Jess's knees was a-knockin' +together, but she tunes up her mandy-linn, scratches at the strings with +a little chip, an' gits started all right on 'Rock o' Ages,' an' gits to +goin' along kinder quavery-like fer a while, an' then she busts right +inter, 'He'r dem Bells,' so strong an' high an' wild that it takes the +ol' man right out o' his boots. + +"He claps his hands an' yells, 'Hooray! Give us another!' + +"Then she saws along on, 'Gather at the River,' an' chops inter, 'All +Coons Looks Alike ter Me,' in a way to stop the mill. + +"Her paw stan's aroun' all the while, tickled t' death an' smilin' all +over. + +"'Wal,' says the soop'rintendent, when Jess she stops ter git her wind, +'yer all right, Miss. Hemenway. Yer as full o' music as a wind-harp in a +tornado.' Then he says to her paw on the Q. T., 'If yeh was ter let that +gal go ter the city an' l'arn some o' them high-toned op'ry songs, yeh +wouldn't have to be picaroonin' lumber strings much longer.' + +"'Yes,' says Hemenway, bloated up like a gobbler an' lookin' at Jess +where she stan's with her face red an' still a-puffin' for breath; 'an' +she thinks she could l'arn right here if she only had a pianner.' + +"'She'd oughter have one,' says Mr. Sneath. 'I wish----' he says, an' +then he breaks off like a busted log-chain. 'But we couldn't git it down +here.' + +'"What's that?' asts Hemenway. + +"'We got a pianner up to our place, an' Mrs. Sneath won't be a-fingerin' +on it fer five months. She's a-goin' East with me. If we could only git +it down here an' back all right. If the' 's only a road from Skyland +down here or from Mill Flat up, but the' ain't, so the' 's no use +talkin'. Couldn't ship it down to the Flat an' up on mule-back, or +nothin', either; so I guess it can't be did.' + +"'Why not send it down the flume?' asts Jess, timid-like. I could see +she was jest crazy about gittin' it. + +"'Oh, the flume is old, an' it's rotten in places, an' such a heavy load +might go through.' + +"'Why, it holds up the grub-boat all right,' says Jess 'Oh, if I could +only have that pianner down here! I can play a little already, an' I'd +l'arn a lot. I'd practise eight hours a day.' + +"'How about gittin' the meals?' asts Hemenway. + +"'Wal, I'd set up, then, an' practise all night,' says she. + +"'I'm afeard that 'u'd be pretty hard on yer paw,' says Mr. Sneath, +smilin'. 'Wal, Jud, we got ter be goin'.' + +"So they gits inter their dude boat, an' Jess she skips along after 'em, +an' jest as they's about to ontie she yells out to the soop'rintendent: + +"'Cain't I have it? Cain't I have it? Cain't yeh send it down the flume? +Please say yeh will. I'll take the best kind o' keer of it. It sha'n't +git a single scratch.' + +"Mr. Sneath he looks at her a minute kinder tender-like, an' I knowed +them big eyes o' hern was a-doin' their work. Them big soft baby eyes +would 'a' drawed sap outer a dead log. + +"'Wal,' says he, 'we'll see. If Mrs. Sneath's willin' I guess it'll be +all right.' + +"'Thank you, thank you, thank you!' she yells as the boat flies down the +flume. + +"I seed Jud blow a kiss to her, an' I knowed she was happy as a bird. +She was a-singin' aroun' the shanty all day, an' at supper she done +nothin' but talk, talk, talk about that there pianner. + +"'Don't be so awful gay, Miss. Hemenway,' says I, for I was afeard she +might be disapp'inted. 'Yeh ain't got it yet. Yeh know, Mr. Sneath's a' +awful busy man, an' he may fergit it.' + +"'Oh, he won't fergit! Jud'll poke him up on it,' says she. 'An' I think +I'll have it put right over there in that corner. No, that's on the +flume side, an' it might draw dampness there. Over there by the winder's +the place, an' plenty o' light, too. Wonder if they'll think to send +down a stool.' + +"I had to skin up to Skyland nex' day. Jud says the soop'rintendent has +to light out quicker'n he'd thought, but he didn't fergit about the +pianner. Mis' Sneath was as easy as greased skids, but Mr. Sneath he +didn't know exactly. He sends the pianner over to the warehouse there +'longside the flume an' has the men slap together a stout boat to run +her down in; but at the las' minute he backs out. He was a-lookin' at +the pianner standin' there in the warehouse, an' he says to Jud, says +he: + +"'That there pianner has be'n in our family ever sence we was married. +Marthy allus sot a heap o' store by that pianner. It was my first +present to her, an' I know she thinks a hull lot of it, even if she +don't seem ter keer. Trouble is, she don't know what sendin' it down the +flume means. Yeh see, it ain't like a long string o' lumber--weight's +all in one place, an' she might break through. This flume ain't what it +was thirteen years ago, yeh know.' + +"Jud he argies with him, 'cos he knows Jess's heart'll be broke if she +don't git the pianner; an' after a while he thinks he's got it all +fixed; but jest afore Sneath an' his wife takes the stage he telaphones +down to the warehouse to let the pianner stay there till he comes back. +Then he goes away, an' Jud is as down in the mouth as if he'd run his +fist ag'in' a band-saw. He mopes aroun' all day, an' he's afeard to +tell Jess; but as I was a-goin' back to Five that night, he tells me to +break it to her gentle-like an' say he'd done his best. Which I did. +Wal, that gal jest howls when I tells her, an' sobs an' sobs an' takes +on like a baby coyote with the croup. But her dad he quiets her at last. + +"Jud he hardly dasts to show up on Sunday, but when he does, she won't +look at him fer quite a while. Then some o' that strawbary-blonde in her +comes out in some o' the dernedest scoldin' yeh ever heer'd. + +"'It's too bad, Jessie,' says he, 'but it ain't my fault. I done my +best. He backed out at the las' minute; he backed out, an' I couldn't do +no more than if a tree dropped on me. He backed out.' + +"After a while he takes her off up the flume a piece, an' they stays +there a long time, but she don't seem satisfied much when she comes +back. There is hell a-poppin' there for about three days over that there +pianner, an' the ol' man he gits so sick of it he gives her warnin' +he'll light out if she don't quit. Wal, she quiets down some after that, +but she makes Jud as mis'able as a treed coon fer over a week. She keeps +a-tryin' an' a-tryin' to git him to send the pianner down anyway. She +tells him she'll send it back afore the Sneaths gits home. + +"'He told me I could have it; he promised me,' says she, 'he promised +me, an' I'll never marry you unless you send it down. You can do it; +you're goin' to be boss, an' you know it will be all right. I'll see +that they ain't a scratch on it; an' you can put it in the warehouse, +an' they'll never know it's be'n away.' + +"An' so she keeps a-teasin' an' a-teasin', till finally Jud he gits +desperate. + +"'Oram,' says he to me one day, 'Oram, you're an ol' flume man. What do +you think o' runnin' that pianner down to Five?' + +"I shakes my head. I likes the boy, an' I don't want ter see him take +sech big chances o' gittin' inter trouble. Somebody might tell Sneath, +an' then it might be all off about his bein' flume boss. Besides, nobody +had never run no pianner down no flume before, an' yeh couldn't tell +what might happen. + +"'D' yeh think, honest, Oram,' says he, 'the ol' flume's likely ter give +way anywheres?' + +"'No,' says I; 'she's strong as a railroad-track.' + +"'Wal, then,' says he, 'I'm a-goin' to do it. You come down Sunday an' +we'll take her out afore anybody's out o' the bunk-house.' + +"I tries to argy him out of it, but he won't listen. So Sunday, about +five in the mornin', I goes up to Skyland, an' we slides the big boat +inter the flume an' gits the pianner onto the rollers, an' 't ain't much +trouble to load her all right; fer, yer know, them big boats has flat +tops like decks, an' things sets up on top of 'em. But while we was +a-doin' that an' the boat is hitched tight to a stanchion 'longside o' +the flume, the water backs up behind so high that it looks as though the +pianner is a-goin' ter git wet. This skeers Jud, an' he seems to lose +his head someways. + +"'Hustle up, Oram!' says he, very nervous-like. 'The boat's crowdin' +down so it won't let any water past. Ontie that rope.' + +"I takes a good notice o' the pianner, an' I don't like her looks, +sittin' up there so high on that little deck. + +"'We oughter tie her on good an' tight,' says I. + +"She's a upright, yeh see, an' she's as top-heavy as a pile-driver. I +was afeard she'd strike a low limb or somethin' an' git smashed. So I +goes to settle her a bit an' lay her down on her back an' tie her on; +but he says he don't know about that layin'-down business, an' declares +she'll ride all right. He speaks pretty sharp, too. So I gits a little +huffy an' onties the rope, an' we starts. + +"Wal, she don't go very fast at first, 'cos she's heavy an' they ain't +none too much water in front; but after a while we comes to the Devil's +Slide,--you remember the place,--an' we scoots down there like the +mill-tails o' hell. + +"'Gee-whiz!' says Jud. 'She's a-rockin' like a teeter. I hope she'll +stay on all right.' He was settin' back with me, behind the pianner, an' +we both tries to holt on to her an' keep her stiddy, but we cain't do +much more'n set down an' cuss haff the time, we're so afeard we'll git +throwed out. Wal, after we come to the foot of the slide, we breathes +easy-like, an' Jud he says it's all right, for that there was the wust +place. For about three miles the pianner set on that boat as stiddy as a +church, an' from there on down to Four it was pretty good sailin'. Of +course we went a good deal faster in the steep places than any other +boat ever sent down the flume, because the heft o' the thing, when she +got started, was bound to make her fly, water or no water. In a good +many places we run ahead o' the stream, an' then in the quiet spots the +water would catch up to us an' back up behind us an' shove us along. + +"Between Four an' Five there's a place we used ter call Cape Horn. The +flume is bracketed onto a cliff, yeh know, fer about a mile, an' it's a +skeery place any way yeh shoot it; yeh scoot aroun' them there sharp +curves so lively, an' yeh look down there four or five hundred feet +inter the bottom o' the cañon. That's where yeh shut yer eyes. Yeh +remember? Wal, when I sees Cape Horn ahead I gits a little skeer'd when +I thinks how she might rock. We run onto a place where I could look away +ahead, an' there, wavin' her apron or somethin', is a gal, an' I knows +it's Jess, out from Five to see the pianner come down. Jud he knows, +too, an' waves back. + +"We runs out onto the brackets, turns a sharp curve, an' she begins to +wabble an' stagger like a drunken man, floppin' back an' forth, an' the +strings an' things inside is a-hummin' an' a-drummin'. + +"'Slow her down!' yells Jud. 'Slow her down, or we'll never git past the +Horn!' + +"I claps on the brake, but she's so heavy she don't pay no 'tention to +it, though I makes smoke 'long them planks, I tell yer. She scoots ahead +faster'n ever, an' bows to the scenery, this way an' that, like she was +crazy, an' a-hummin' harder than ever. + +"'Slow her down! Ease her down!' hollers Jud, grittin' his teeth an' +holdin' onto her with all his hundred an' eighty pounds weight. But 't +ain't no good. I gits a holt oncet, but the water backs up behind us an' +we goes a-scootin' down on a big wave that sloshes out o' the flume on +both sides an' sends us flyin' toward that Horn fer further orders. + +"When we gits to the sharpest curve we knows we're there all right. She +wabbles on one side an' then on the other, so I can see chunks o' sky +ahead right under her. An' then, all of a sudden, she gives a whoopin' +big jump right off the top o' the boat, an' over the side o' the flume +she goes, her strings all a-singin' like mad, an' sailin' down four +hundred feet. Jud had a holt of her before she dropped, an' if I hadn't +'a' grabbed him he'd 'a' gone over, too. + +"You might not believe it, pardner, but we run a quarter of a mile down +that there flume before we hears her strike. Jeroosalem! What a crash! I +ever heer'd one o' them big redwoods that made half so much noise when +she dropped. How she did roar! An' I tell yeh what was strange about +that there noise: it seemed like all the music that everybody had ever +expected to play on that pianner for the nex' hundred years come +a-boomin' out all to oncet in one great big whoop-hurray that echered up +an' down that cañon fer half an hour. + +"'We've lost somethin',' says I, cheerful-like, fer I thinks the' 's no +use cryin' over spilt pianners. + +"But Jud he never says nothin',--jest sets there like he was froze plumb +stiff an' couldn't stir a eyelid--sets there, starin' straight ahead +down the flume. Looks like his face is caught in the air and held that +way. + +"Of course, now our load's gone, the brake works all right, an' I hooks +a-holt onto the side about a hundred feet from where Jess stands like a +marble statute, lookin' down inter the gulch. + +"'Come on, Jud,' says I, layin' my hand onto his arm soft-like; 'we gits +out here.' + +"He don't say nothin', but tries to shake me off. I gits him out at +last, an' we goes over to where poor Jess stands, stiff an' starin' down +inter the gulch. When she hears our feet on the side planks, she starts +up an' begins to beller like a week-old calf; an' that fetches Jud outer +his trance for a while, an' he puts his arm aroun' her an' he helps her +back along the walk till we comes to a place where we gits down an' goes +over to view the wreck. + +"Great snakes, pardner, but it was a sight! The pianner had flew down +an' lit onto a big, flat rock, an' the' wasn't a piece of her left as +big as that there plate. There was all kinds o' wires a-wrigglin' aroun' +on the ground an' a-shinin' in the sun, an' the' was white keys an' +black keys an' the greatest lot o' them little woolly things that +strikes the strings all mixed up with little bits o' mahogany an' nuts +an' bolts an' little scraps o' red flannel an' leather, an' pegs an' +bits o' iron that didn't look as if it had ever been any part o' the +machine. It was the dernedest mess! I picked up somethin' Jess said was +a pedal,--a little piece o' shiny iron about as long as that,--'n' that +was the only thing that seemed to have any shape left to it. The litter +didn't make any pile at all--jest a lot o' siftin' sawdust-stuff +scattered aroun' on the rocks. + +"'She struck tol'able hard,' says I, lookin' at Jud. But he don't say +nothin'; jest stan's over there on the side o' the rock an' looks as if +he'd like to jump off another fifty feet the' was there. + +"'Don't take it like that, Jud,' says Jess, grabbin' holt o' him an' not +payin' any 'tention to my bein' there. 'Cry, cuss, swear--anything, but +don't be so solemn-like. It's my fault, Juddie dear--all my fault. Can +yeh ever, ever fergive me? Yeh said yeh didn't think it was safe, an' I +kep' a-goadin' yeh to it; an' now----' She broke out a-blubberin' an' +a-bellerin' again, an' he puts his arm aroun' her an' smiles, an' says +soft-like: + +"'It don't matter much. I can raise the money an' buy a new one fer Mis' +Sneath. How much do they cost?' says he. + +"'Oh, I dunno! Five hundred dollars, I think. It's an awful lot o' +money!' + +"'Wal, I got three-fifty saved up,--you know what fer,--an' I can raise +the rest an' put a new pianner in the place o' that one,' says he. + +"He looks at the wreck, an' fer the first time I sees his eyes is jest a +little damp. + +"They didn't either of 'em seem to take any notice o' me, an' I didn't +feel that I counted, nohow. + +"'An' we cain't git married,' says Jud, sorrowful-like, 'fer ever so +long. There'll be nothin' to house-keep on till I can save up some +more.' + +"'Yes, we can, too,' says she. 'I don't keer if yeh ain't got so much as +a piece o' bale-rope.' + +"'But yer paw?' + +"'I don't keer,' says she, very hard-like, a-stampin' her foot. 'He can +like it or lump it.' + +"Wal, I sneaks away an' leaves 'em there, an' by an' by they comes up to +where I sets on top o' the boat, an' Jud isn't so plumb gloomy as I +thinks he'd be. + +"Him an' her goes down ter Fresno nex' day an' buys one o' that same +identical make o' pianners an' has it shipped up on the first +freight-wagon to Skyland. An' they puts it inter the warehouse, an' +there she stands till Mr. Sneath comes home with his wife. + +"When Mis' Sneath she sees the pianner brung inter her house she don't +notice any difference fer a while; but one day she sets down ter play, +an' she pounds out a few music, an' then she gives a jump an' looks all +over the machine an' she says, 'Good Lord!' An' Sneath he comes in, an' +they has a great time over how the' 's be'n sech a change in that +pianner. She finally makes up her mind it's a bran'-new one, an' sends +fer Jud an' asts him what he knows about it. An' he cain't lie a little +bit, so he up an' tells her that her pianner is all inter sawdust an' +scrap-iron down on the rocks, an' that this is a new one that he owes a +hundred an' fifty dollars on down ter Fresno. + +"Then she busts out a-laughin', an' says: + +"'Why, that old tin-pan! I'm glad it flew the flume. It wasn't wuth +twenty dollars. I got a noo grand pianner on the way here that I ordered +in Noo York. I'll make this here one a weddin' present to you an' Jess.' + +"And the soop'rintendent he writes out his check an' sends it down to +Fresno to pay off the hundred an' fifty, an' when the weddin' it comes +off he gives 'em a set o' chiny dishes besides. + +"Jud's flume boss now, an' Jess she plays that pianner an' sings like a +bird. When we gits down ter Mill Flat I'll show yeh their house. It's a +white one up on the side o' the hill, jest across the gulch from the +mill. + +"Wal, yeh had all the grub yeh want, pardner? Say, ain't them green +gages sour? They sets yer teeth on aidge all right. An' I couldn't find +the boys' sugar-can. If yer full up, I guess we'd better git inter the +boat." + +I took my seat behind Oram and a particularly offensive pipe he had +just lighted. Looking down the long, swift-running, threatening flume, I +shuddered; for since Oram's recital the native hue of my resolution had +been "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." I remarked that if +he saw any of those Cape Horn curves ahead to let me know and I would +get out and walk. + +"Don't yeh be skeer'd by what I told yeh," said he. "Yeh got a pretty +fair-sized head, but yeh ain't quite so top-heavy as Mis' Sneath's big +upright. An', besides, the' ain't no more Cape Horn on this flume; they +calls that place Pianner P'int now." + + + + +THE CONTUMACY OF SARAH L. WALKER + +BY + +MIRIAM MICHELSON + +Reprinted from _Munsey's Magazine_ of April, 1904 by permission + + +"THE BOARD will now pass to consideration of the case of Mrs.--Mrs. +Walker." + +The president looked from the report in front of her to the +superintendent sitting opposite. + +The Rev. Alexander McCaleb rose slowly to his feet. + +"I regret exceedingly," he said, "to have to report this case to the +board. I need not say that if it had been possible to convince Mrs. +Walker of the error of her ways, no pains or time would have been +spared. But I have done all that I could. Mrs. Walker persists. +She--ah!--she flouts all authority, and--ah!--sets such an example of +rebellious conduct that I fear the discipline of the home may be gravely +compromised." + +The president knitted her pretty, dark brows. Her hair was white, with a +soft, youthful whiteness that haloed her head as if it was a joke of old +Time's. She was new to her office, and was conscious of a critical +atmosphere that subtly underlined the formality of the proceedings--an +official formality that made the meeting of the lady managers of this +Old People's Home a formidable affair. + +"I see no record of any case of disciplining heretofore," she said, +troubled. "There is no precedent by which the chair can be----" + +"But there are the by-laws," suggested the superintendent. He reached +over to his own desk, and read from a pamphlet that had lain open there: +"If any inmate of the home shall persistently and willfully disobey the +rules, the superintendent shall report such case to the board of +managers. If, after full and complete investigation, and a notice to +that effect having been duly served, said inmate shall continue to +persist in contumacy, the board is by a majority vote empowered to +expel." + +A little hush fell upon the assemblage at this invocation of its dread +powers. + +"It seems rather hard on the old bodies, doesn't it?" the president was +encouraged to remark. + +"But it is plainly stated in the by-laws," said the recording secretary, +a bright-eyed, business-like matron. + +"And dear Mr. McCaleb is so patient and tactful that it is seldom +necessary," remarked the single member of this week's visiting +committee. + +"I thank you, Mrs. Davis." The superintendent bowed in his stateliest +manner. "I do my best--I try always to do my best. Old people are +trying, we all know." + +The president looked up from her perusal of the by-laws. + +"Suppose we have the old lady in," she said. "Mr. McCaleb, will you send +for Mrs. Walker?" + +The old lady held her head haughtily as she walked into the handsomely +furnished office. The president, mindful of her official capacity, +looked severely upon Mrs. Walker--Sarah Lucinda Walker, according to the +cramped signature of the home's register, widow, native of Maine, aged +sixty-seven on her entrance into the home five years ago. And Mrs. +Walker--a miracle of aged neatness, trim, straight, little, in her +somber black and immaculate cap--looked severely back. + +"Be seated, Mrs. Walker," said the president. + +"Thank you." Mrs. Walker crossed with a formal "Good morning, ladies," +and took the chair indicated. + +"Now, Mr. McCaleb, if you please----" said the president. + +The superintendent rose. + +"Ladies," he began with a solemnity that made the offender quake within, +though outwardly she was calm as the president herself, "it is with +positive pain that I have to report to you the case of Mrs. Sarah +Lucinda Walker. It is now fully three months since I began to labor with +her--three months since I warned her of this very thing that has come to +pass, an investigation by your honorable board. On the 9th of +January"--he glanced methodically at a note-book--"I sent her a copy of +the by-laws, with the section referring to insubordination underscored +in red ink. On the 23d I made a personal call upon her, and sought to +convince her how impossible it was that such conduct could be tolerated. +On February 7th I publicly reprimanded her. On the 13th--five days +ago--I informed her that, after considering it prayerfully, I had laid +the matter before your honorable body, and that she should hold herself +in readiness to be summoned before you to meet the following charges: + +"First, insubordination; second, breaking Rule VIII of the house +regulations; third, taking food from the table; fourth, disturbing +neighbors in early morning; and fifth, defacing the building." + +Mr. McCaleb took his seat. The shocked gaze of the board bent itself +upon the criminal. The bad little old lady's far-sighted eyes swept +insolently past them all and met the president's--twenty years younger +than her own. + +"Do you like birds, ma'am?" she asked, herself in an eager, bird-like +way. And then, without waiting for an answer, she went on: "I love +'em--anything that's got wings. Old Cap'n Walker used to say, 'Sary +Lucindy, they was a moughty fine ornithologist spiled when God A'mighty +made you a woman 'stead of a man.' He was a free-spoken man, Cap'n +Walker, not so pious-mouthed as some, but he had charity in his soul, +which is more than some others has." + +She swept a superbly disdainful look toward the Rev. McCaleb. The +recording secretary tapped reprovingly with her pencil, but the +president only listened. + +"Now, ma'am, we ain't paupers, we old folks. Every one of us, as you +know, has paid our thousand dollars in. An' we ain't bad children as +needs disciplinin'; an' they's no use treatin' grandmothers an' +great-grandmothers as though they was. It's in me to love birds, an' no +'mount of rules and regulations is goin' to change me. My canary bird +died the same year Cap'n Walker saved every other soul on board his +ship and went down alone to the bottom with her. Since then I've sort o' +adopted the sparrers. Why, haven't I spent every afternoon through the +summer out in the park a-feedin' them my lunch? An' now that winter's +come, d'ye think I'd have the face to desert them? + +"'Not one of them is forgotten before God'--do you remember, ma'am? One +of 'em seemed to be in the early winter. It was before my rheumatism got +so bad. I was out in the park the afternoon the first snow fell, an' +this poor little crittur with a wing broke kep' a trailin' an' chirpin' +an' scuttlin' in front o' me. It'd fell out o' the nest; hardly covered +with feathers, it was. I picked it up an' carried it to my room in my +apron. Poor little mite--how it fluttered an' struggled! I kep' it +overnight in my spool-box. In the mornin' I fed it; by noon the sun come +out, an' I let it out on the window-sill, where I keep my house plants; +just a bit o' musk--the cap'n liked musk--an' a pot o' bergamot. Do you +know, ma'am, that little thing was that contented by the end of the week +that I could leave the windows open an' nary a wing's stroke away would +it go? That was in December, 'fore it got to be known that I kep' a bird +in my room. That mild spell we had 'fore Christmas it did fly away one +morning, but at sundown there it was back again; an' when it came on to +snow that night I felt same's I used to 'tween voyages, when I could +hear how the ocean'd get lashed to a fury, an' Cap'n Walker'd be fast +asleep safe beside me. + +"Of course it was a pity that when the bird came back it showed others +the way--but wasn't it cute of it, ma'am? An' wasn't it just like a lot +o' children hangin' 'round at maple-syrup time? They did make a clatter +an' a racket in the early mornin' when I wouldn't be up an' they'd be +ready for breakfast. But wasn't it for all the world like children with +empty little stummicks an' chatterin' tongues? When Mis' Pearson +complained of me an' the noise, I didn't take it kind of her. Take food +from the table? Course I did. But it was my own lunch, that I'd a right +to go hungry for ef I wanted to, an' nobody's affair. + +"But I tell you, ma'am, one day--it was that day Mr. McCaleb sent me +that printed notice, an' everybody on my floor see it comin' an' knew it +was something shameful an' legal--that evening I tried honestly to keep +'em out. I pulled down the shade--it was a bitter cold day, a regular +blizzard blowing--an' I sat with my back to the window an' tried to read +my Bible while them birds jest shrieked themselves hoarse outside. Well, +guess where that Bible opened to! 'Yea, the sparrow hath found a house +and the swallow a nest for herself where she may lay her young.' That +was a message, ma'am, a straight, sure message. I opened the window an' +scattered their bread-crumbs out on the sill, which I had made jest the +least bit wider for them--that's what he calls 'defacin' the buildin'.' +After that, I told Mr. McCaleb flat-footed that if he had the heart to +starve them innocent critturs in the dead o' winter, it was more than I +had. I told him if he'd wait till spring, I'd promise never to open the +window that faces south after that; but till they could shift for +themselves, I'd shift for them. That's all. Thank _you_, ma'am, for +letting me have my say." + +She smiled into the president's soft eyes, and rose, looking like a +trim, saucy, gray-haired sparrow about to take flight. The president's +smile started back to her, but on the way it had to pass the recording +secretary, the visiting committee, and the Rev. Alexander McCaleb. By +the time it had made the journey it was shorn of half its sympathetic +understanding. + +"You admit then, Mrs. Walker, that you have broken the rule against +having pets in the room?" the president asked with gravity. "It is a +necessary rule. Fancy what would be the condition of the place if a lady +in No. 117 had a tame sparrow, a gentleman in No. 120 a monkey, his +neighbor a spaniel, the lady across the way a cat, and so on! I +appreciate--we all do, and Mr. McCaleb more than all of us--how tender +and charitable a nature yours is, but"--she looked at the recording +secretary to gain courage--"but we simply must enforce the rules. I know +so good a housekeeper as you must have been will understand this, and +agree with me when I say that such a disciplinarian as Captain Walker no +doubt was--unfortunately, I never had the pleasure of his +acquaintance--would have been the first to counsel you to obey the +rules. Won't you think it over from our point of view, Mrs. Walker, when +you go back to your room? Do! Good afternoon." + +It was a very dejected Sarah Lucinda Walker that returned to her room. +Her depression was noted and audibly commented upon by Mrs. Pearson, her +next-door neighbor and arch-enemy. In fact, the whole corridor was alive +with the news of her defeat. At the lunch-table it was the sole topic +of conversation, and in the library old Colonel Rockwell--in the pauses +of a quavering rendition of "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep"--bet Mr. +Patterson three of the cigars his nephew always sent him on Fridays that +Mrs. Walker, being a woman of spirit, would not yield even though the +ultimatum were expulsion. + +Mrs. Walker heard of the wager, of course, that afternoon. They were a +hundred or more antiquated and unseaworthy vessels, all anchored in a +semi-genteel haven; and from morning till night, till sun should cease +for them to shine and water to flow they had nothing to do but to listen +to the whispering tide that told of the great ocean of life beyond, or +to gossip among themselves of their own voyages dead and done. + +The incorrigible Mrs. Walker's spotless little room, with its bag of +dried crusts on the window-sill, saved for her pet, became the storm +center that afternoon. Every old lady who could possibly claim +acquaintance called to inquire her intentions; every old gentleman +leaned hard upon his cane as he lifted his hat to her in the halls with +the deference due a gallant rebel. They loved a rebel, these old +children, at the end of their lives fallen again into the domain of "you +must" and "you must not." + +Sarah Lucinda Walker's world rocked beneath her. She intended, she +believed, to obey the rules, to cast off the one creature on earth to +which she could still play Lady Bountiful; to shut her hospitable window +and her loving old heart on all these fluttering, visiting strangers who +had heard of her generosity, and with every hour carried the news of it +further. + +She intended all this, but when the time came she did simply as old +Colonel Rockwell had wagered she would. She opened wide her windows and +fed the hungry throng that whirred about her, scattering crumbs and +floating feathers over the immaculate marble of Mr. McCaleb's front +door-step. + +A knock at the door brought her to her senses. She put a withered little +old hand, very like a sparrow's claw, upon the window-sash to shut it +hastily, and then, too proud to deceive, turned boldly to meet her fate. + +Mrs. Pearson, on the lookout at her half-open door saw the +official-looking document handed to her. + +"It's her notice to leave," she said in an awed whisper to herself. + +In the face of so great a calamity she felt, not triumph, but a shocked +sense of loss, of self-reproach. Five minutes after she was in her +enemy's room. + +"You mustn't--you mustn't cry, dear Mrs. Walker," she sobbed, putting +her arms about the slender old shoulders. + +"Am I crying?" the little old lady answered. "I can't help it--I'm so +happy!" + +"Happy!" Mrs. Pearson's dazed old eyes turned bewildered from the +envelope with the home's letterhead on it to the bird-like creature in +her arms. "And you've got your notice to leave?" + +"Did you think it was that? So did I for a minute, an' it 'most killed +me. But I opened it, an' found a note from the president--that dear, +dear president! She wants to know if I'll take care of her summer +cottage till the spring comes. An', Marthy Pearson, they's chickens up +there--fancy breeds--a whole yard of 'em--an' I'm to have the feedin' of +'em. Ain't it enough to make a body cry for joy? Say, Marthy, would +you--would you mind feedin' the sparrers?--only on the very stormiest +days--McCaleb would never suspect you, an' spring's near!" + + + + +BREAKING THROUGH + +BY + +W. C. MORROW + +Reprinted from _Success Magazine_ of September, 1906 by permission + + +"RAY," SAID his mother, whom he shyly and secretly worshipped, without +her ever suspecting the least of it beneath his cautious reserve and +occasional outbursts of temper, "my son, I hope you will remember, +tonight. You are nearly a man." + +She was a wise woman, and said it kindly and meant it well; but his face +flamed, his eyes hardened, and he sullenly walked away. Mrs. Gilbert +sighed, and went about the preparations for the young people's party +which her daughters, aged sixteen and eighteen, were to give that +evening. She could not foresee what her son would do. Would her gentle +warning, filled with the tender pride of a mother's love for her one +man-child, drive him with his dog to the woods, whither many a time +before this day a word less pointed had sent him, there to live for a +week or longer at a time, in a manner that he had never disclosed?--or +would the disjointed thing within him which harried his somber, lonely +life force him in a blind moment to make a disgraceful scene at the +gathering? She prayed that neither would happen, and that the sunshine +fighting for egress through his darkness would come forth soft and +genial and very fine and sweet, as it did sometimes, and always +unaccountably.... + +The worst had happened at the party. No doubt it was intolerable,--but +not so bad as when (he was then only four) he had tried to kill a boy +for lying about him and was whipped mercilessly by his father,--for +here, in the library, he was sitting before Mr. Gilbert, who was pale +and whose eyes had a deep, inscrutable look. He was a large and powerful +man, and had a genial nature, with force and sternness. The lad had +never seen him looking thus, and so evidently guarding a prisoner, and +the boy felt a strange weight within. + +Whatever had happened must have left a shadow on the assemblage, for, +though faint sounds came through the closed doors, they were somewhat +lacking in the robustness of youth. Ray did not deign an effort to +remember. More than that, he hoped that it never would come back, for it +might be disturbing to his solitudes. Of his attempts to remember the +attack on the boy ten years ago, there had never come any result but the +recollection of a wholly disconnected event,--when he was enveloped in a +swirl of flame and smoke from a fierce grass fire, and had to fight his +way through to life. He did not try to think what his father's purpose +was in holding him a prisoner tonight. Was it to give him a lecture? +Pshaw! The beautiful, peaceful woods would make him forget that +child's-play, and he would steal away to them with Cap this very night, +as soon as all were asleep. + +Thus, motionless and in silence, sat he and his father, seemingly +through an endless, aching time. After a while the guests quietly left. +His sisters omitted their customary good night to their father. All +sounds from the servants ended. Then entered his mother, uncommonly +pale, and in silence looked from her son to her husband. She was small +and dainty, and very, very pretty, the boy reflected. It was a pity that +her bright eyes should be dim tonight and her sweet mouth drawn. She +looked worn and as though she dreaded something. + +"Are you ready?" Mr. Gilbert asked, regarding her fixedly. + +Her lip trembled, but there came a flash from her eyes. "Do you really +mean it?" she asked. + +"Certainly. It must be done." + +"My dear, dear, he's too large for----" + +"He'll never be too large for it so long as he is a boor and coward, +insults our guests, scandalizes us all, shames his sisters, and treats +his parents with open scorn. He won't try to be like other people and +accept his world as he finds it. His inordinate conceit is a disease. It +is eating up his own life and making our lives miserable. We will cure +it." + +He had spoken calmly, but with a low vibration of tone; and as he came +to his feet he looked very tall and terrible. Ray's blood began to rise, +and as he looked about for something undefined he felt the heat and +smelled the smoke of the grass fire of ten years ago. + +He knew he was a coward. That was the shame and the curse of his life. +He did not think it had always been so, but believed it had come about +gradually. At first he had not minded the whippings that other boys gave +him because of his temper and his physical inadequacy, for he had +invited the punishment; but when they all learned that his fighting +spirit had weakened, that they could whip him easily, that they need not +wait for provocation, and that he would never tell, they bullied and +hounded and beat him until he had come to know a craven, sordid fear, +which spread from the boys to the whole terrible world in which the +masculine entity must fight for a place. + +"I am ready," said Mrs. Gilbert, trying to hide a sigh. + +"Come," Mr. Gilbert ordered the boy, looking at him for the first time +in two hours. + +The boy quailed before that look, the most dreadful thing he had ever +seen. It made him numb and sick, and when he rose he staggered; for, +though tall, he was slender and had little strength. The weight on his +chest became a pain and fixed on his throat, to choke and torment him. + +His mother had gone out. He followed his father, and the three went out +into the back yard, the boy bare-headed. The night was sharp and the +moon very bright. All the boy's power of thought was suspended. + +In silence they walked down the terraces of the park-like yard in the +rear. Cap, Ray's dog, his only intimate, came bounding forward for his +young master's unfailing good night, but Mr. Gilbert angrily ordered him +away. The animal, astonished and hurt, slunk away, keeping a watchful +view of the group, and sat down at a distance and gazed in wonder. They +passed through a gate into an orchard, and shut the dog out. + +Mr. Gilbert selected an apple tree, because the wood was tougher than +that of a peach. From it he cut two switches a yard long, and carefully +pared the knots, his wife observing without a word or a movement, and +the boy looking away into the distance. When Mr. Gilbert had done, he +ordered his son to prepare. + +The lad numbly, dumbly removed his coat and waistcoat, slipped his +suspenders down, tightened the strap at the back of his trousers, +clasped his hands in front, and bowed his head. The dog, which had crept +to the fence and was peering through the pickets, whined anxiously and +was quivering. When roughly ordered away by Mr. Gilbert, he went upon a +terrace that overlooked the fence, and trembled as he watched. The boy +did not once look toward him. He was struggling with the pain in his +throat. + +Mr. Gilbert offered one of the switches to his wife. + +"Oh, how can you!" she pleaded. + +"You must," he firmly said. "I'll relieve you when you are tired." + +The boy's mind suddenly cleared, and he comprehended. A whipping from +his father would be frightful enough,--not for the blows; they were +nothing. The plan was not alone to humiliate him beyond all measure, but +to scourge his soul, ravage the sanctuary of his mother there, rend him +asunder, and cast him into an unthinkable hell of isolation; for she was +the bond that held him to the world, she was the human comfort and +sweetness of his life. + +Since his tenth year his discipline had been solely in her hands, his +father having given him up as worthless, hopeless. She had whipped him +many a time, but not for two years; and he had felt no pain, no shame, +no outrage, no resentment. The case of the teacher was different. Ray +had solemnly sworn, renewing the oath every day, that when he came to +manhood he would beat his teacher to death for whipping him so often and +severely because of his dulness, his apathy, or his rebellion; the +whippings from his mother had only increased his tenderness for her, +and, in some way that he could not understand, his pity also. Perhaps it +was because he vaguely felt that she was impairing something in herself +that was precious to him. Never had she conquered him; never had he +cried out in pain, never pleaded for mercy, never confessed penitence +nor promised reform. + +Mrs. Gilbert shut her teeth hard, and, deathly white in the moonlight, +raised the switch. It was poised a moment, and then her arm fell limp to +her side; but the look that her son had seen in his father's eyes held +her and steeled her with a sort of desperate madness, and her arm again +rose. + +A long cry, an anguished wail, almost superhuman in its power to shatter +the silence of the night, and more startling than any human cry could +be, struck disorganizingly through the drama. It may have hastened the +catastrophe. Mr. Gilbert was unnerved for a moment, and in exasperation +picked up a clod and threw it at the offending dog trembling on the +terrace. When he turned again, his son was kneeling beside his +unconscious mother, peering anxiously into her pallid face, and calling +her softly. + +In a stride Mr. Gilbert was upon him. A hand armed with strength and +fury caught up the shirt on the lad's shoulder, raised him, and flung +him away with so great violence that the slender body struck the ground +as a log. Mr. Gilbert tenderly picked up his wife and bore her into the +house. + +The fall had half stunned the boy. As he slowly struggled to a sitting +posture the moon danced fantastically, and some black trees crowning a +near hill bowed and rose, and walked sidewise to and fro. A whine, low, +cautious, packed with sympathy and solicitude, pleaded at the pickets, +but the boy gave it no attention. He sat for a time, rose giddily, +swayed as he dressed himself, and with deliberation walked to the gate. +The dog, whining, trembling, crawled to meet him; but the boy, instead +of caressing him, ordered him quietly but firmly to the kennel. +Obedience was slow, and the animal looked up incredulous, wondering. The +order had to be repeated. Finally the dog obeyed, frequently pausing to +look back, but his master stood inflexible. + +Passing round the house, and without thinking or caring about hat and +overcoat, he noiselessly passed out the front gate, for a moment studied +the big house that had cradled him, bred much of his anguish, and held +all of his love, and firmly stepped out into the road. There was a +gnawing ache somewhere. Assuredly that one blow,--and from _her_,--could +not have caused it. After finding it in his throat, he was much +relieved, and struck out on secure legs. + +It did not occur to him that he was an outlaw and outcast. He did not +think at all. Hence there was no plan in his going. He did not even +understand that something deeper within him than had ever operated +before had assumed, in the disqualification of his ordinary ruling +powers, an imperious regency, and that it was infinitely greater or +infinitely less than his usual intelligence. He simply went on, thinking +nothing, remembering nothing. The beautiful highway, arched by great +trees, above which rode the moon in keeping pace with him, was a tunnel +under a luminous sea; he half walked, half floated, in the crystal +water, and had no wonder that he breathed it. The houses along the way +were the palaces of lordly gnomes that inhabited the deep. + +Whatever was leading him turned him out of the avenue at last and +drifted him along a winding road that was as beautiful in its less +conventional way. He did not reflect that all of this was familiar, +shamefully familiar. It was the road to his grandmother's but he had not +visited her for a year. + +Her great wisdom and tact had gone to a study of the strange, unhappy +child; she had been kind to him in every cautious, delicate fashion that +she could devise; but he had ceased coming, and avoided her when she +visited his home, and she had never known why. She was a patient woman +and good; she knew prayer, and in her peaceful twilight she walked with +God; yet no revelation had come at her appeals, for the times were not +ready; and the boy went his way alone and silent, forever alone and +silent, and unhappy, unhappy! + +A white picket fence was presently marching with him alongside the +shining road. He did not consciously recognize it, and it brought no +rekindling of an old terror, an old shame; but soon, on the other side +of it, a distance away, there broke on the stillness a challenge that he +remembered, and its tone was contempt. He understood it, and woke with +a start because of a sudden fluff of flame and a whiff of smoke from the +grass fire of ten years ago, and the ache in his throat gave him a +strangling wrench. His head rolled; the moon swung through an arc of +alarming length. That call beyond the fence struck the dominant note of +his life, and it was Fear. Yet it came from a mere animal,--his +grandmother's old buckskin horse, the most docile of creatures. + +Ray had never feared the wild things of the woods. The cry of the +panther in the dead of night is dreadful but it had no terrors for the +boy in the forest solitude. Other fierce pad-footed members of the cat +tribe had come and sniffed him as he lay under the stars, and experience +had taught him to feign sleep, for a suspicion of his wakefulness would +send them bounding away, and he was lonely, always lonely. One night, +roused from slumber, he sleepily put his hand on the shaggy head of a +bear that was curiously rummaging him, and he was sorry that the beast +took alarm and trotted away,--he would have been comfortable to hug. +That was before the dog had come into his life. He could never +understand why he was not afraid of anything whatever--not even of the +terrific lightning and thunder that sometimes flamed and crashed and +bellowed all about him,--except human beings and the forces that they +controlled; and at times he wondered why Cap loved him and the buckskin +horse would kill him from hate if he could. + +Here, then, beyond the picket fence, was the proclamation of his +shame,--coming from a gentle, superannuated horse with no more spirit +than a snail's. By some means, perhaps instinctive,--for all the world, +when it finds out, will hunt down and destroy whatsoever fears it +(although the boy had not reasoned it out thus),--the beast had learned +that the boy was afraid, and had then found an interest in life. Let him +but have a glimpse of Ray, and, ears back, lips drawn from hideous +yellow teeth, and head thrust horribly forward, he would snort, +charge,--and the boy would run abjectly. The horse had never thus +treated another living thing. So the boy had stayed away from his +grandmother's, and she had never suspected, and her love and prayers had +brought no revelation. + +As the fence intervened, the horse knew that a charge would be useless; +but when, with a neat leap the boy nimbly caught his feet on the ground +within the pasture, the buckskin advanced in his minatory way. Ray did +not know why he had leaped the fence, unless the wrench in his throat +had hurled him over or the flame and smoke of the grass fire had driven +him; nor did he know why he went steadily to meet the horse, nor why his +nostrils stretched and his arms strained and his hands clenched, nor why +there was a fierce eagerness in him; a rasping thirst for something +dried his tongue. The horse came on, and the boy, perfectly calm, as +fatally went to meet him. There was no calculation of results, yet the +lad knew that a horse's teeth and hoofs may be deadly. He knew only that +he was not going forward to end all his wretchedness, as, last year, the +shoemaker who drank had done with a shotgun, and young Corson, the +thieving clerk, with poison. It occurred to the boy that he cared +nothing about the teeth and hoofs of any horse, and nothing about what +they might do. + +So ridiculous was the _fiasco_ that he would have laughed had he not +been sorry for the beast; for to see any rampant thing so suddenly +stricken with fear, when there was not the least danger nor any intent +of harm, was pitiful to see. He wished to assure the buckskin that he +was only a boy, a frail boy at that, and not what the animal had +apparently taken him to be,--a spawn of Darkness and Terror. He followed +up the trembling beast, trying to reassure him and to get near and pet +him; but the creature fled wildly at every advance, and when not pursued +stood with head aloft, ears cocked, and nostrils vibrant, quivering in +fear. + +Seeing the uselessness of further pacific effort, the boy sprang over +the fence, went back to the main highway, and by the unseen Hand was led +into the short cut past Mr. Elderby's house, where the greatest terror +of his life--human excepted--had months ago driven him to use the long +way round. He did not know, nor for a moment consider, why he chose the +short cut tonight. He turned into it, walking free and strong. + +Girls had meant nothing in the boy's life. That was because they did not +seem members of his species, but something fragile, mysterious, and +ranking somewhere between flowers and angels. Thus his feeling for them +was composed of a little awe, more reverence, and a sense of great +remoteness. Never had he observed them thoughtfully without reflecting +that they were, in a general way, much like his mother, or at least of +her species; therefore they must be sweet and dainty and gentle and +kind. His only large swellings of the heart had come from his thinking +about them, particularly Grace Elderby, now twelve years old. Nothing +could have been so grand, for instance, as an opportunity to rescue her +single-handed, from wild savages that had her tied to a tree and were +piling fagots about her; then to dance in fiendish glee about her as the +flames rose. He would dash up on a splendid charger, his sword flashing +in the sun; savage heads would roll in the dust, or fall open, cleaved +in twain; there would be wild yells of fright and a wilder flight for +life; he would leap from his horse, speak reassuring words while he +severed her bonds, mount with her in his arms, and fly away, away, away. + +Twice had Grace seen his shame. She had seen him pale, and run when her +father's big, noisy dog had made a flamboyant show of rage, and she had +seen him stand mute and white when Andy Carmichael, older and larger and +much stronger than Ray, grossly insulted him in her presence. The +Elderby dog was the terror that had closed the short cut,--closed it to +Ray alone. + +Thus into the short cut swung Ray, walking strong and free, the ache in +his throat not so painful as before. The dog would be on guard, and the +boy was empty-handed. + +The shadows were deep under the trees, or possibly the dog's hate and +rage blinded him to what the buckskin had seen, or perhaps he was of a +different metal. Near the rear of the premises the big brute came in so +great a fury that he broke through the palings. The ensuing +collision,--for the boy stood his ground,--was so violent that Ray went +down underneath, and an ecstasy thrilled him when the flame swished and +the smoke stung, and he felt something sink into his shoulder and a +stifle of hot, foamy breath in his face. + +It seemed to have been easily and quickly done. True, when he came erect +he was weak and tired, and swayed dizzily, and wondered why. As, without +the least exultation, or even triumph, or even gratification, he looked +down at his work, and saw with surprise how deeply the ground had been +torn up, two men with sticks came running out,--evidently there had been +some noise, despite all his care for silence. One was Mr. Elderby, the +other his coachman. The gentleman stood in astonishment as the boy, +controlling his heavy breathing, stepped into the moonlight and calmly +faced him. + +"Ray Gilbert! What are you doing here, at this time of night?" + +"I was walking in the path. Your dog attacked me." + +"What did you kill him with?" + +"My hands." + +Mr. Elderby stood in wonder as he studied the lad. + +"I'm thankful to God that you are alive. It's a miracle." He noticed +that Ray's clothing was torn nearly to rags. In compassion he laid a +hand on Ray's shoulder, quickly withdrew it, and examined it in the +moonlight. "You are hurt, my son. Come into the house. I'll put you to +bed and send for the doctor and your parents." + +"Thank you, sir; I have something to do." + +"But you must have attention.--Jake, hitch up the bay to the light +buggy,--quick,--and drive him home." + +"No, sir; but I'm much obliged. I have something to do. Good night." The +shadows enveloped him. + +The short cut led him over a sharp hill and into the road again, and +there he sat on the bank till his strength came back. Then he went on +till he arrived at a gate leading into a private avenue. The ache in his +throat was nearly gone. Passing quietly up the driveway and round to the +rear of the house, he came to a window, which was open at the top, and +sharply tapped on the glass. + +"Who's that?" came a voice. + +"Dress and come out, Andy Carmichael. I'm Ray Gilbert." + +The sash was thrown up and the boy glowered in the opening. "Ray +Gilbert!--you cowardly, sneaking puppy! What do you want?" + +"I want to see you. Dress and come out. Don't wake anybody." + +He spoke quietly, trying to appear his usual self lest this monster, +this overshadowing terror of his life, should see whatever it was that +had frightened the horse and slain the dog. This was the boy who had +beaten him so often and with such merciless, sodden, gluttonous +enjoyment; the boy who, when he did not care to give the beatings +himself--no provocation was ever needed,--would stand threateningly by +and let the smaller boys, even to the little ones with soft, puny fists, +beat the coward as long as they wished, merely for the love of beating +what did not resist; the boy whose lies had brought undeserved whippings +from the teacher; the boy who openly insulted him whenever he pleased, +and, worst of all, had humiliated him before Grace Elderby. It was the +presence of this boy at the party that evening, and the looks that he +gave Ray, and the sly tortures he inflicted, that had sent up the +curtain on the night's drama. + +In wondering surprise Andy studied the bare-headed, ragged, dirty figure +standing in the moonlight; and as crimson looks a muddy brown in such a +light, he mistook the smears on the other's face and the dark splotches +on his clothing. What could the creature want of him at this time of +night and with that extraordinary appearance? Likely Ray had been set +upon and was seeking any refuge. It would be joyous to complete the work +that the others had begun. Andy soon emerged from the house. + +"Come this way," said his mysterious visitant, and perplexed Andy +followed him to the rear of the fowl-house, where the light was clear. +The flame and smoke of the old grass fire were strong in the air. + +Ray halted, and faced him. + +"Take off your coat," he quietly said, removing his own tattered +garment. + +"What for?" with a slight quaver composed of anger--and something else; +for there was a touch of the uncanny here. + +"We are going to fight." + +"Fight, eh! What put that into your fool head?" Under the initial +impulse from the challenge, Andy was all heat and eagerness, and he +bristled and swelled; but though, in some vital ways, human sense is +less acute than brute sense, Andy did feel something of what the +buckskin had felt, something of what had slain the dog, and his heart +thumped with a strange heaviness. "What do you want to fight for? I'd +beat the life out of you." + +It failed of the effect intended, and Andy found his head suddenly +twisted to one side by a slap on the cheek. He stepped back, white with +fury, tossed his coat aside, and hurled himself upon the slender figure +waiting with such unearthly composure. + + * * * * * + +Dawn was flooding the east, and still the boy lurched and floundered on +and on, keeping to the road that led into the wilderness. Occasionally +he would stop for a minute's rest and to listen for the baying of +Frazier's bloodhound; and he wondered, in a purely detached and +scientific way, whether he had sufficient strength and acuteness left +for another such grapple. It was merely an engaging speculation, and was +complicated with his determination to perform another task before his +work was done. It would nearly break his heart to be stopped now. Likely +the dog would not attack him, but merely hold him at bay until the +pursuers came to his summons; but if the dog would not attack, then the +boy must. Would strength or even life be left for the last and most +important of all the tasks to which the Hand was leading him?--for there +was a good distance yet to be covered, and work to be done at the end of +it. He was thankful that the ache had entirely left his throat and that +a strange warmth had kindled in his breast. + +[Illustration: "DAWN WAS FLOODING THE EAST, AND STILL THE BOY LURCHED AND +FLOUNDERED ON AND ON." FROM A PAINTING BY GORDON ROSS] + +Perhaps they had not really meant what they said about setting Frazier's +bloodhound to run him down. The remark had come from the yardman, not +Mr. +Carmichael himself, who had appeared too stunned to think of anything +but his son. If they had wished to kill the outlaw, or take him and send +him to jail, why had they not seized and bound him instead of staring at +him so queerly, and then the yardman foolishly saying, as Ray staggered +away and they picked up the limp figure, that they would get Frazier's +bloodhound and set him on the trail? They were two strong men against a +mere boy, who was so exhausted that only with a mighty effort could he +stand. It was Andy's final despairing cry that had waked them. + +Without either triumph or regret the boy struggled on. The broadening of +day made him partly aware of the savage presence that he made and of the +likelihood that traffic might open on the road at any time. Some of his +clothing was gone, and he had bound the remaining strips and rags about +him as best he could. He did not know about the aspect of his face and +hair, but he realized that should any one encounter him in the road he +might be forced to do something distasteful, and that the urgent task +ahead might be interrupted. + +A horseman and two market wagons passed at intervals, but the boy was +hidden at the roadside. So he reeled on and on, and so he came at last +to the great pine. There he turned out and crawled as much as walked +through the trees and undergrowth to the summit of a low ridge, where he +felt the sunshine fall on his half-naked back. It was so luxurious that +he paused in the full glare of it, and slowly turned, as one very cold +before a warming fire, and reveled in it. With every moment he felt it +pouring into him, tingling softly as it ran. It was odd with what +cheerful industry it hunted out the coldest places in him and kindled +snug little fires under them. Most of all, it gave attention to the warm +place that had already started in the center, and that one woke to a +wonderful glow. Thus refreshed, he descended the slope on the farther +side and came to a morass threaded by a friendly stream. At the edge of +the bog he halted and looked keenly about. It had been two years since +his last visit to this spot, and, though his memory of the woods was +excellent, he now found himself dull and his vision bad. Ordinarily he +would have found at once what he was seeking. Up and down along the +margin he stumbled, straining his dim eyes, crawling sometimes and using +groping hands in the search. Surely no one else could have come upon +this remote spot, found the treasure, and taken it away! + +At last! It had seemed to him a very long time; but all else was +submerged in the joy of the first triumph, the first elation, that the +lad had felt in many, many a day. Every shadow that had lain on his +conscience vanished, every shame that had cursed his years was swept +away, all bitterness took flight, and something fine and sweet raced +through him deliciously. + +There was no waste of precious time in hunting for something with which +to dig. Then, too, the glorious sun had mounted, and was pouring its +flood of light and warmth on his work and him. Like the tines of a +digging-fork, his fingers sank into the ground. + +The precious treasure, hugged gently, reverently, with a fierce sense of +protection, was balm to every hurt. With it thus clasped, the boy +laboriously made the ascent of the ridge on his return, and paused on +the summit. There was something strange in the distance with which the +descending slope to the road stretched so far, so bewilderingly far. He +contemplated it, and wondered if he could compass it in a lifetime. The +impulse to go on--for this last task was only half done--overcame the +check from the illusion, and he started down. His knees developed a +foolish way of suddenly flexing and seating him hard on the ground. At +first it was annoying, but when it happened the second time the +absurdity of it, and the ridiculous suddenness of the surprise that it +caused, made the boy laugh aloud. It astonished him to hear himself +laugh, for that was very unusual, and he wondered. But he rose, +staggered on, and found himself chuckling inside,--a most astonishing +thing! He could not imagine why he was doing it. When he dropped the +third time his voice rang in so loud and merry a laugh that two blue +jays came and scolded him terrifically, and he laughed at them till his +tears ran. He was so absurdly happy that he feared he would hug his +treasure too hard. + +If only his mother were with him, that she might see how funny it all +was, and laugh and be happy with him, and then walk with him hand in +hand through the beautiful woods, while he showed her all the wonderful +things that he knew! But no; his sisters and his father must be with +them,--and Grace, and Andy, too, and the teacher and dear old +grandmother. What a glorious time they would have! + +The boy started, for a sweet, coaxing smother had suddenly fallen on +him. He fought it away and rose with great difficulty and in some alarm +lest he should not reach the road. On he lurched, clinging to the bushes +as he swayed, trying not to laugh, for he had an idea that he was very +crass and silly. He saw the road, only a rod away, and suddenly +reflected that he was not presentable. Though staying till night would +delay the completion of his task, there was no help for it, and he was +content, and laughed because he was. And he knew that he really needed +rest; for suppose his legs should practise those grotesque +eccentricities in the road, and somebody should see! He sat down, +carefully guarding his treasure, to wait in happy patience. He would not +sleep, and so lose something of his conscious peace, something of +thinking about what was going to happen at the end. No, he _must_ not +sleep. + +The frantically joyous barking of a dog standing over him--not at all +like the deep baying of Frazier's bloodhound,--woke the boy, and he +tried to raise his head, but it fell back like lead. He laughed drowsily +in quiet happiness, as he feebly patted the devoted head. + +"Dear old Cap," he said. "You came, didn't you?" + +Messengers from Elderby's and Carmichael's had brought strange news to +the boy's parents. In alarm they had started out in the surrey, taking +Cap, in the sure faith that he would find their son. They had seen that +Andy was recovering,--he had been much more frightened than hurt. It was +they whose crashing through the bushes the boy heard after Cap had +announced his find. They halted and paled when they saw the torn, +bruised, helpless figure smiling at them from the ground, and so full +of loving gladness merely to see them that there was no room for +surprise at their being there. The mother was quicker than the father; +she ran forward and fell on her knees beside her son. + +"My boy!" she cried in a choke. + +He took her hand and smiled into her face. In all her life she had never +seen a smile so sweet, so happy. With his free hand he lifted his +treasure. + +"Mother," radiantly, "here it is!" + +"What, my poor dear?" + +"Don't you remember? I told you two years ago that I'd found it, and you +said you'd be very glad if I'd bring it to you when I came this way +again." + +She opened the parcel, wrapped with so fond care in leaves and damp +moss. + +"Why, it's the rare and beautiful fern, and you were taking it to me! +Bless your dear heart!" and, much to his surprise, she began to cry. + + + + +A LOST STORY + +BY + +FRANK NORRIS + +Reprinted from _The Century Magazine_ of July, 1903 by permission + + +AT NINE o'clock that morning Rosella arrived in her little office on the +third floor of the great publishing house of Conant & Company, and +putting up her veil without removing her hat, addressed herself to her +day's work. + +She went through her meager and unimportant mail, wrote a few replies, +and then turned to the pile of volunteer manuscripts which it was her +duty to read and report upon. + +For Rosella was Conant's "reader," and so well was she acquainted with +the needs of the house, so thorough was she in her work, and so great +was the reliance upon her judgment, that she was the only one employed. +Manuscripts that she "passed up" went direct to Conant himself, while +the great army of the "declined" had no second chance. For the +"unavailables" her word was final. + +From the first--which was when her initial literary venture, a little +book of short tales of Sicily and the Sicilians, was published by the +house--her relations with the Conants had been intimate. Conant believed +in her, and for the sake of the time when her books could be considered +safe investments, was willing to lose a few dollars during the time of +her apprenticeship. For the tales had enjoyed only a fleeting _succès +d'estime_. Her style was, like her temperament, delicately constructed +and of extreme refinement, not the style to appeal to the masses. It was +"searched," a little _précieuse_, and the tales themselves were +diaphanous enough, polished little _contes_, the points subtle, the +action turning upon minute psychological distinctions. + +Yet she had worked desperately hard upon their composition. She was of +those very few who sincerely cannot write unless the mood be propitious; +and her state of mind, the condition of her emotions, was very apt to +influence her work for good or ill, as the case might be. + +But a _succès d'estime_ fills no purses, and favorable reviews in the +literary periodicals are not "negotiable paper." Rosella could not yet +live wholly by her pen, and thought herself fortunate when the house +offered her the position of reader. + +This arrival of hers was no doubt to be hastened, if not actually +assured, by the publication of her first novel, "Patroclus," upon which +she was at this time at work. The evening before, she had read the draft +of the story to Trevor, and even now, as she cut the string of the first +manuscript of the pile, she was thinking over what Trevor had said of +it, and smiling as she thought. + +It was through Conant that Rosella had met the great novelist and +critic, and it was because of Conant that Trevor had read Rosella's +first little book. He had taken an interest at once, and had found +occasion to say to her that she had it in her to make a niche for +herself in American letters. + +He was a man old enough to be her grandfather, and Rosella often came to +see him in his study, to advise with him as to doubtful points in her +stories or as to ideas for those as yet unwritten. To her his opinion +was absolutely final. This old gentleman, this elderly man of letters, +who had seen the rise and fall of a dozen schools, was above the +influence of fads, and he whose books were among the classics even +before his death was infallible in his judgments of the work of the +younger writers. All the stages of their evolution were known to +him--all their mistakes, all their successes. He understood; and a story +by one of them, a poem, a novel, that bore the stamp of his approval, +was "sterling." Work that he declared a failure was such in very +earnest, and might as well be consigned as speedily as possible to the +grate or the waste-basket. + +When, therefore, he had permitted himself to be even enthusiastic over +"Patroclus," Rosella had been elated beyond the power of expression, and +had returned home with blazing cheeks and shining eyes, to lie awake +half the night thinking of her story, planning, perfecting, considering +and reconsidering. + +Like her short stories, the tale was of extreme delicacy in both +sentiment and design. It was a little fanciful, a little elaborate, but +of an ephemeral poetry. It was all "atmosphere," and its success +depended upon the minutest precision of phrasing and the nicest harmony +between idea and word. There was much in mere effect of words; and more +important than mere plot was the feeling produced by the balancing of +phrases and the cadence of sentence and paragraph. + +Only a young woman of Rosella's complexity, of her extreme +sensitiveness, could have conceived "Patroclus," nor could she herself +hope to complete it successfully at any other period of her life. Any +earlier she would have been too immature to adapt herself to its +demands; any later she would have lost the spontaneity, the _jeunesse_, +and the freshness which were to contribute to its greatest charm. + +The tale itself was simple. Instead of a plot, a complication, it built +itself around a central idea, and it was the originality of this idea, +this motif, that had impressed Trevor so strongly. Indeed, Rosella's +draft could convey no more than that. Her treatment was all to follow. +But here she was sure of herself. The style would come naturally as she +worked. + +She was ambitious, and in her craving to succeed, to be recognized and +accepted, was all that passionate eagerness that only the artist knows. +So far success had been denied her; but now at last she seemed to see +light. Her "Patroclus" would make her claims good. Everything depended +upon that. + +She had thought over this whole situation while she removed the +wrappings from the first manuscript of the pile upon her desk. Even then +her fingers itched for the pen, and the sentences and phrases of the +opening defined themselves clearly in her mind. But that was not to be +the immediate work. The unlovely bread-and-butter business pressed upon +her. With a long breath she put the vision from her and turned her +attention to the task at hand. + +After her custom, she went through the pile, glancing at the titles and +first lines of each manuscript, and putting it aside in the desk corner +to be considered in detail later on. + +She almost knew in advance that of the thirty-odd volunteers of that +day's batch not one would prove available. The manuscripts were tagged +and numbered in the business office before they came to her, and the +number of the first she picked up that morning was 1120, and this since +the first of the year. Of the eleven hundred she had accepted only +three. Of these three, two had failed entirely after publication; the +third had barely paid expenses. What a record! How hopeless it seemed! +Yet the strugglers persisted. Did it not seem as if No. 1120, Mrs. Allen +Bowen of Bentonville, South Dakota--did it not seem as if she could know +that the great American public has no interest in, no use for, "Thoughts +on the Higher Life," a series of articles written for the county +paper--foolish little articles revamped from Ruskin and Matthew Arnold? + +And 1121--what was this? The initial lines ran: "'Oh, damn everything!' +exclaimed Percival Holcombe, as he dropped languidly into a deep-seated +leather chair by the club window which commanded a view of the noisy +street crowded with fashion and frivolity, wherein the afternoon's sun, +freed from its enthralling mists, which all day long had jealously +obscured his beams, was gloating o'er the panels of the carriages of +noblemen who were returning from race-track and park, and the towhead of +the little sweeper who plied his humble trade which earned his scanty +supper that he ate miles away from that gay quarter wherein Percival +Holcombe, who----" Rosella paused for sheer breath. This sort did not +need to be read. It was declined already. She picked up the next. It was +in an underwear-box of green pasteboard. + +"The staid old town of Salem," it read, "was all astir one bright and +sunny morning in the year 1604." Rosella groaned. "Another!" she said. +"Now," she continued, speaking to herself and shutting her eyes--"now +about the next page the 'portly burgess' will address the heroine as +'Mistress,' and will say, 'An' whither away so early?'" She turned over +to verify. She was wrong. The portly burgess had said: "Good morrow, +Mistress Priscilla. An' where away so gaily bedizened?" She sighed as +she put the manuscript away. "Why, and, oh, why _will_ they do it!" she +murmured. + +The next one, 1123, was a story "Compiled from the Memoirs of One Perkin +Althorpe, Esq., Sometime Field-Coronet in His Majesty's Troop of Horse," +and was sown thick with objurgation--"Ods-wounds!" "Body o' me!" "A +murrain on thee!" "By my halidom!" and all the rest of the sweepings and +tailings of Scott and the third-rate romanticists. + +"Declined," said Rosella, firmly, tossing it aside. She turned to 1124: + +"About three o'clock of a roseate day in early spring two fashionables +of the softer sex, elegantly arrayed, might have been observed +sauntering languidly down Fifth Avenue. + +"'Are you going to Mrs. Van Billion's musicale tonight?' inquired the +older of the two, a tall and striking demi-brunette, turning to her +companion. + +"'No, indeed,' replied the person thus addressed, a blonde of exquisite +coloring. 'No, indeed. The only music one hears there is the chink of +silver dollars. Ha! ha! ha! ha!'" + +Rosella winced as if in actual physical anguish. "And the author calls +it a 'social satire'!" she exclaimed. "How can she! How can she!" + +She turned to the next. It was written in script that was a model of +neatness, margined, correctly punctuated, and addressed, "Harold +Vickers," with the town and State. Its title was "The Last Dryad," and +the poetry of the phrase stuck in her mind. She read the first lines, +then the first page, then two. + +"Come," said Rosella, "there is something in this." At once she was in a +little valley in Boeotia in the Arcadian day. It was evening. There was +no wind. Somewhere a temple, opalescent in the sunset, suggested rather +than defined itself. A landscape developed such as Turner in a quiet +mood might have evolved, and with it a feeling of fantasy, of +remoteness, of pure, true classicism. A note of pipes was in the air, +sheep bleated, and Daphne, knee-deep in the grass, surging an answer to +the pipes, went down to meet her shepherd. + +Rosella breathed a great sigh of relief. Here at last was a +possibility--a new writer with a new, sane view of his world and his +work. A new poet, in fine. She consulted the name and address +given--Harold Vickers, Ash Fork, Arizona. There was something in that +Harold; perhaps education and good people. But the Vickers told her +nothing. And where was Ash Fork, Arizona; and why and how had "The Last +Dryad" been written there, of all places the green world round? How came +the inspiration for that classic _paysage_, such as Ingres would have +loved, from the sage-brush, and cactus? "Well," she told herself, "Moore +wrote 'Lalla Rookh' in a back room in London, among the chimney-pots and +soot. Maybe the proportion is inverse. But, Mr. Harold Vickers of Ash +Fork, Arizona, your little book is, to say the least, well worth its +ink." + +She went through the other manuscripts as quickly as was consistent with +fairness, and declined them all. Then settling herself comfortably in +her chair, she plunged, with the delight of an explorer venturing upon +new ground, into the pages of "The Last Dryad." + + * * * * * + +Four hours later she came, as it were, to herself, to find that she sat +lax in her place, with open, upturned palms, and eyes vacantly fixed +upon the opposite wall. "The Last Dryad," read to the final word, was +tumbled in a heap upon the floor. It was past her luncheon hour. Her +cheeks flamed; her hands were cold and moist; and her heart beat thick +and slow, clogged, as it were, by its own heaviness. + +But the lapse of time was naught to her, nor the fever that throbbed in +her head. Her world, like a temple of glass, had come down dashing about +her. The future, which had beckoned her onward,--a fairy in the path +wherein her feet were set,--was gone, and at the goal of her ambition +and striving she saw suddenly a stranger stand, plucking down the golden +apples that she so long and passionately had desired. + +For "The Last Dryad" was her own, her very, very own and cherished +"Patroclus." + +That the other author had taken the story from a different view-point, +that his treatment varied, that the approach was his own, that the +wording was his own, produced not the least change upon the final +result. The idea, the motif, was identical in each; identical in every +particular, identical in effect, in suggestion. The two tales were one. +That was the fact, the unshakable fact, the block of granite that a +malicious fortune had flung athwart her little pavilion of glass. + +At first she jumped to the conclusion of chicanery. At first there +seemed no other explanation. "He stole it," she cried, rousing +vehemently from her inertia--"mine--mine. He stole my story." + +But common sense prevailed in the end. No, there was no possible chance +for theft. She had not spoken of "Patroclus" to any one but Trevor. Her +manuscript draft had not once left her hands. No; it was a coincidence, +nothing more--one of those fateful coincidences with which the +scientific and literary worlds are crowded. And he, this unknown +Vickers, this haphazard genius of Ash Fork, Arizona, had the prior +claim. Her "Patroclus" must remain unwritten. The sob caught and +clutched at her throat at last. + +"Oh," she cried in a half-whisper--"oh, my chance, my hopes, my foolish +little hopes! And now _this_! To have it all come to nothing--when I was +so proud, so buoyant--and Mr. Trevor and all! Oh, could anything be more +cruel!" + +And then, of all moments, _ex machina_, Harold Vickers's card was handed +in. + +She stared at it an instant, through tears, amazed and incredulous. +Surely some one was playing a monstrous joke upon her today. Soon she +would come upon the strings and false bottoms and wigs and masks of the +game. But the office boy's contemplation of her distress was real. +Something must be done. The whole machine of things could not +indefinitely hang thus suspended, inert, waiting her pleasure. + +"Yes," she exclaimed all at once. "Very well; show him in;" and she had +no more than gathered up the manuscript of "The Last Dryad" from the +floor when its author entered the room. + +He was very young,--certainly not more than twenty-three,--tall, rather +poorly dressed, an invalid, beyond doubt, and the cough and the flush on +the high cheek-bone spelled the name of the disease. The pepper-and-salt +suit, the shoe-string cravat, and the broad felt hat were frankly +Arizona. And he was diffident, constrained, sitting uncomfortably on the +chair as a mark of respect, smiling continually, and, as he talked, +throwing in her name at almost every phrase: + +"No, Miss. Beltis; yes, Miss. Beltis; quite right, Miss. Beltis." + +His embarrassment helped her to her own composure, and by the time she +came to question him as to his book and the reasons that brought him +from Ash Fork to New York, she had herself in hand. + +"I have received an unimportant government appointment in the Fisheries +Department," he explained, "and as I was in New York for the week I +thought I might--not that I wished to seem to hurry you, Miss. +Beltis--but I thought I might ask if you had come to--to my little book +yet." + +In five minutes of time Rosella knew just where Harold Vickers was to be +placed, to what type he belonged. He was the young man of great talent +who, so far from being discovered by the outside world, had not even +discovered himself. He would be in two minds as yet about his calling in +life, whether it was to be the hatching of fish or the writing of "Last +Dryads." No one had yet taken him in hand, had so much as spoken a word +to him. If she told him now that his book was a ridiculous failure, he +would no doubt say--and believe--that she was quite right, that he had +felt as much himself. If she told him his book was a little masterpiece, +he would be just as certain to tell himself, and with equal sincerity, +that he had known it from the first. + +He had offered his manuscript nowhere else as yet. He was as new as an +overnight daisy, and as destructible in Rosella's hands. + +"Yes," she said at length, "I have read your manuscript." She paused a +moment, then: "But I am not quite ready to pass upon it yet." + +He was voluble in his protestations. + +"Oh, that is all right," she interrupted. "I can come to the second +reading in a day or two. I could send you word by the end of the week." + +"Thank you, Miss. Beltis." He paused awkwardly, smiling in deprecatory +fashion. "Do you--from what you have seen of it--read of it--do you--how +does it strike you? As good enough to publish--or fit for the +waste-basket?" + +Ah, why had this situation leaped upon her thus unawares, and all +unprepared! Why had she not been allowed time, opportunity, to fortify +herself! + +What she said now would mean so much. Best err, then, on the safe side; +and which side was that? Her words seemed to come of themselves, and she +almost physically felt herself withdraw from the responsibility of what +this other material Rosella Beltis was saying. + +"I don't know," said the other Rosella. "I should not care to say--so +soon. You see--there are so many manuscripts. I generally trust to the +first impression on the second reading." She did not even hear his +answer, but she said, when he had done speaking, that even in case of an +unfavorable report there were, of course, other publishers. + +But he answered that the judgment of such a house as the Conants would +suffice for him. Somehow he could not peddle his story about New York. +If the Conants would not take his work, nobody would. + +And that was the last remark of importance he made. During the few +remaining moments of his visit they spoke of unessentials, and before +she was aware, he had gone away, leaving with her a memorandum of his +address at the time. + + * * * * * + +She did not sleep that night. When she left the office she brought "The +Last Dryad" home with her, and till far into the night she read it and +re-read it, comparing it and contrasting it with "Patroclus," searching +diligently if perhaps there were not some minute loophole of evasion, +some devious passage through which she might escape. But amid the +shattered panes of her glass pavilion the block of stone persisted, +inert, immovable. The stone could not be raised, the little edifice +could not be rebuilt. + +Then at last, inevitably, the temptation came--came and grew and shut +about her and gripped her close. She began to temporize, to advance +excuses. Was not her story the better one? Granted that the idea was the +same, was not the treatment, the presentation, more effective? Should +not the fittest survive? Was it not right that the public should have +the better version? Suppose "Patroclus" had been written by a third +person, and she had been called upon to choose between it and "The Last +Dryad," would she not have taken "Patroclus" and rejected the other? Ah, +but "Patroclus" was not yet written! Well, that was true. But the draft +of it was; the idea of it had been conceived eight months ago. Perhaps +she had thought of her story before Vickers had thought of his. Perhaps? +No; it was very probable; there was no doubt of it, in fact. That was +the important thing: the conception of the idea, not the execution. And +if this was true, her claim was prior. + +But what would Conant say of such reasoning, and Trevor--would they +approve? Would they agree? + +"Yes, they would," she cried the instant the thought occurred to her. +"Yes, they would, they would, they would; I know they would. I am sure +of it; sure of it." + +But she knew they would not. The idea of right persisted and persisted. +Rosella was on the rack, and slowly, inevitably, resistlessly the +temptation grew and gathered, and snared her feet and her hands, and, +fold on fold, lapped around her like a veil. + +A great and feminine desire to shift the responsibility began to possess +her mind. + +"I cannot help it," she cried. "I am not to blame. It is all very well +to preach, but how would--any one do in my case? It is not my fault." + +And all at once, without knowing how or why, she found that she had +written, sealed, stamped, and addressed a note to Harold Vickers +declining his story. + +But this was a long way from actually rejecting "The Last +Dryad"--rejecting it in favor of "Patroclus." She had only written the +note, so she told herself, just to see how the words would look. It was +merely an impulse; would come to nothing, of course. Let us put it +aside, that note, and seriously consider this trying situation. + +Somehow it seemed less trying now; somehow the fact of her distress +seemed less poignant. There was a way out of it--stop. No; do not look +at the note there on the table. There was a way out, no doubt, but not +that one; no, of course not that one. Rosella laughed a little. How +easily some one else, less scrupulous, would solve this problem! Well, +she could solve it, too, and keep her scruples as well; but not tonight. +Now she was worn out. Tomorrow it would look different to her. + +She went to bed and tossed wide-eyed and wakeful till morning, then +rose, and after breakfast prepared to go to the office as usual. The +manuscript of "The Last Dryad" lay on her table, and while she was +wrapping it up her eye fell upon the note to Harold Vickers. + +"Why," she murmured, with a little grimace of astonishment--"why, how is +this? I thought I burned that last night. How _could_ I have +forgotten!" + +She could have burned it then. The fire was crackling in the grate; she +had but to toss it in. But she preferred to delay. + +"I will drop it in some ash-can or down some sewer on the way to the +office," she said to herself. She slipped it into her muff and hurried +away. But on the way to the cable-car no ash-can presented itself. True, +she discovered the opening of a sewer on the corner where she took her +car. But a milkman and a police officer stood near at hand in +conversation, occasionally glancing at her, and no doubt they would have +thought it strange to see this well-dressed young woman furtively +dropping a sealed letter into a sewer-vent. + +She held it awkwardly in her hand all of her way down-town, and still +carried it there when she had descended from her car and took her way up +the cross-street toward Conant's. + +She suddenly remembered that she had other letters to mail that morning. +For two days the weekly epistles that she wrote home to her mother and +younger sister had been overlooked in her pocket. She found a mail-box +on the corner by the Conant building and crossed over to it, holding her +mother's and sister's letters in one hand and the note to Vickers in the +other. + +Carefully scanning the addresses, to make sure she did not confuse the +letters, she dropped in her home correspondence, then stood there a +moment irresolute. + +Irresolute as to what, she could not say. Her decision had been taken in +the matter of "The Last Dryad." She would accept it, as it deserved. +Whether she was still to write "Patroclus" was a matter to be +considered later. Well, she was glad she had settled it all. If she had +not come to this conclusion she might have been, at that very instant, +dropping the letter to Harold Vickers into the box. She would have +stood, thus, facing the box, have raised the cast-iron flap,--this with +one hand,--and with the other have thrust the note into the slide--thus. + +Her fingers closed hard upon the letter at the very last instant--ah, +not too late. But suppose she had, but for one second, opened her thumb +and forefinger and--what? What would come of it? + +And there, with the letter yet on the edge of the drop she called up +again the entire situation, the identity of the stories, the +jeopardizing--no, the wrecking--of her future career by this +chance-thrown barrier in the way. Why hesitate, why procrastinate? Her +thoughts came to her in a whirl. If she acted quickly now,--took the +leap with shut eyes, reckless of result,--she could truly be sorry then, +truly acknowledge what was right, believe that Vickers had the prior +claim without the hard necessity of acting up to her convictions. At +least, this harrowing indecision would be over with. + +"Indecision?" What was this she was saying? Had she not this moment told +herself that she was resolved--resolved to accept "The Last Dryad"? +Resolved to accept it? Was that true? Had she done so? Had she not made +up her mind long ago to decline it--decline it with full knowledge that +its author would destroy it once the manuscript should be returned? + +These thoughts had whisked through her mind with immeasurable rapidity. +The letter still rested half in, half out of the drop. She still held it +there. + +By now Rosella knew if she let it fall she would do so deliberately, +with full knowledge of what she was about. She could not afterward +excuse herself by saying that she had been confused, excited, acting +upon an unreasoned impulse. No; it would be deliberate, deliberate, +deliberate. She would have to live up to that decision, whatever it was, +for many months to come, perhaps for years. Perhaps,--who could +say?--perhaps it might affect her character permanently. In a crisis +little forces are important, disproportionately so. And then it was, and +thus it was, that Rosella took her resolve. She raised the iron flap +once more, and saying aloud and with a ring of defiance in her voice: +"Deliberately, deliberately; I don't care," loosed her hold upon the +letter. She heard it fall with a soft rustling impact upon the +accumulated mail-matter in the bottom of the box. + +A week later she received her letter back with a stamped legend across +its face informing her with dreadful terseness that the party to whom +the letter was addressed was deceased. She divined a blunder, but for +all that, and with conflicting emotions, sought confirmation in the +daily press. There, at the very end of the column, stood the notice: + + VICKERS. At New York, on Sunday, November 12, Harold Anderson + Vickers, in the twenty-third year of his age. Arizona papers please + copy. Notice of funeral hereafter. + +Three days later she began to write "Patroclus." + + * * * * * + +Rosella stood upon the door-step of Trevor's house, closing her umbrella +and shaking the water from the folds of her mackintosh. It was between +eight and nine in the evening, and since morning a fine rain had fallen +steadily. But no stress of weather could have kept Rosella at home that +evening. A week previous she had sent to Trevor the type-written copy of +the completed "Patroclus," and tonight she was to call for the +manuscript and listen to his suggestions and advice. + +She had triumphed in the end--triumphed over what, she had not always +cared to inquire. But once the pen in her hand, once "Patroclus" begun, +and the absorption of her mind, her imagination, her every faculty, in +the composition of the story, had not permitted her to think of or to +remember anything else. + +And she saw that her work was good. She had tested it by every method, +held it up to her judgment in all positions and from all sides, and in +her mind, so far as she could see, and she was a harsh critic for her +own work, it stood the tests. Not the least of her joys was the pleasure +that she knew Trevor would take in her success. She could foresee just +the expression of his face when he would speak, could forecast just the +tones of the voice, the twinkle of the kindly eyes behind the glasses. + +When she entered the study, she found Trevor himself, as she had +expected, waiting for her in slippers and worn velvet jacket, pipe in +hand, and silk skullcap awry upon the silver-white hair. He extended an +inky hand, and still holding it and talking, led her to an easy-chair +near the hearth. + +Even through the perturbation of her mind Rosella could not but +wonder--for the hundredth time--at the apparent discrepancy between the +great novelist and the nature of his books. These latter were, each and +all of them, wonders of artistic composition, compared with the hordes +of latter-day pictures. They were the aristocrats of their kind, full of +reserved force, unimpeachable in dignity, stately even, at times +veritably austere. + +And Trevor himself was a short, rotund man, rubicund as to face, +bourgeois as to clothes and surroundings (the bisque statuette of a +fisher-boy obtruded the vulgarity of its gilding and tinting from the +mantelpiece), jovial in manner, indulging even in slang. One might +easily have set him down as a retired groceryman--wholesale perhaps, but +none the less a groceryman. Yet touch him upon the subject of his +profession, and the bonhomie lapsed away from him at once. Then he +became serious. Literature was not a thing to be trifled with. + +Thus it was tonight. For five minutes Trevor filled the room with the +roaring of his own laughter and the echoes of his own vociferous voice. +He was telling a story--a funny story, about what Rosella, with her +thoughts on "Patroclus," could not for the life of her have said, and +she must needs listen in patience and with perfunctory merriment while +the narrative was conducted to its close with all the accompaniment of +stamped feet and slapped knees. + +"'Why, becoth, mithtah,' said that nigger. 'Dat dawg ain' good fo' +nothin' ailse; so I jes rickon he 'th boun' to be a coon dawg;'" and the +author of "Snow in April" pounded the arm of his chair and roared till +the gas-fixtures vibrated. + +Then at last, taking advantage of a lull in the talk, Rosella, unable +to contain her patience longer, found breath to remark: + +"And 'Patroclus'--my--my little book?" + +"Ah--hum, yes. 'Patroclus,' your story. I've read it." + +At once another man was before her, or rather the writer--the +novelist--_in_ the man. Something of the dignity of his literary style +immediately seemed to invest him with a new character. He fell quiet, +grave, not a little abstracted, and Rosella felt her heart sink. Her +little book (never had it seemed so insignificant, so presumptuous as +now) had been on trial before a relentless tribunal, had indeed +undergone the ordeal of fire. But the verdict, the verdict! Quietly, but +with cold hands clasped tight together, she listened while the greatest +novelist of America passed judgment upon her effort. + +"Yes; I've read it," continued Trevor. "Read it carefully--carefully. +You have worked hard upon it. I can see that. You have put your whole +soul into it, put all of yourself into it. The narrative is all there, +and I have nothing but good words to say to you about the construction, +the mere mechanics of it. But----" + +Would he never go on? What was this? What did that "But" mean? What else +but disaster could it mean? Rosella shut her teeth. + +"But, to speak frankly, my dear girl, there is something lacking. Oh, +the idea, the motif--that----" he held up a hand. "That is as intact as +when you read me the draft. The central theme, the approach, the +grouping of the characters, the dialogue--all good--all good. The thing +that is lacking I find very hard to define. But the _mood_ of the +story, shall we say?--the mood of the story is----" he stopped, frowning +in perplexity, hesitating. The great master of words for once found +himself at a loss for expression. "The mood is somehow truculent, when +it should be as suave, as quiet, as the very river you describe. Don't +you see? Can't you understand what I mean? In this 'Patroclus' the +atmosphere, the little, delicate, subtle sentiment, is +everything--everything. What was the mere story? Nothing without the +proper treatment. And it was just in this fine, intimate relationship +between theme and treatment that the success of the book was to be +looked for. I thought I could be sure of you there. I thought that you +of all people could work out that motif adequately. But"--he waved a +hand over the manuscript that lay at her elbow--"this--it is not the +thing. This is a poor criticism, you will say, merely a marshaling of +empty phrases, abstractions. Well, that may be; I repeat, it is very +hard for me to define just what there is of failure in your 'Patroclus.' +But it is empty, dry, hard, barren. Am I cruel to speak so frankly? If I +were less frank, my dear girl, I would be less just, less kind. You have +told merely the story, have narrated episodes in their sequence of time, +and where the episodes have stopped there you have ended the book. The +whole animus that should have put the life into it is gone, or, if it is +not gone, it is so perverted that it is incorrigible. To _my_ mind the +book is a failure." + +Rosella did not answer when Trevor ceased speaking, and there was a long +silence. Trevor looked at her anxiously. He had hated to hurt her. +Rosella gazed vaguely at the fire. Then at last the tears filled her +eyes. + +"I am sorry, very, very sorry," said Trevor, kindly. "But to have told +you anything but the truth would have done you a wrong--and, then, no +earnest work is altogether wasted. Even though 'Patroclus' is--not what +we expected of it, your effort over it will help you in something else. +You did work hard at it. I saw that. You must have put your whole soul +into it." + +"That," said Rosella, speaking half to herself--"that was just the +trouble." + +But Trevor did not understand. + + + + +HANTU + +BY + +HENRY MILNER RIDEOUT + +Reprinted from _The Atlantic Monthly_ of May, 1906 by permission + + +THE SCHOONER _Fulmar_ lay in a cove on the coast of Banda. Her sails, +half hoisted, dripped still from an equatorial shower, but, aloft, were +already steaming in the afternoon glare. Dr. Forsythe, captain and +owner, lay curled round his teacup on the cabin roof, watching the +horizon thoughtfully, with eyes like points of glass set in the puckered +bronze of his face. The "Seventh Officer," his only white companion, +watched him respectfully. All the Malays were asleep, stretched prone or +supine under the forward awning. Only Wing Kat stirred in the smother of +his galley below, rattling tin dishes, and repeating, in endless +falsetto sing-song, the Hankow ditty which begins,-- + + "'Yaou-yaou!' remarked the grasshoppers." + +Ashore, the coolies on the nutmeg plantations had already brought out +their mace to dry, and the baskets lay in vermilion patches on the +sun-smitten green, like gouts of arterial blood. White vapors round the +mountain peaks rose tortuously toward the blue; while seaward, rain +still filled the air as with black sand drifting down aslant, through +gaps in which we could descry far off a steel-bright strip of fair +weather that joined sea and sky, cutting under a fairy island so that it +seemed suspended in the air. + +"That's a pretty bit of land," said the doctor lazily. "'_Jam medio +apparet fluctu nemorosa Zacynthos_'. It might be, eh?--Humph!--Virgil +and Shakespeare are the only ones who sometimes make poetry endurable. +All the others are just little swollen Egos." + +This was an unusual excursion, and he quickly returned to practical +matters. + +"There's a better anchorage over there," he drawled, waving the milk-tin +toward Zacynthos. "And less danger of our being caught than here. But no +use; we've got to humor the crew, of course. When they say '_pulo +burrantu_,' that settles it. Haunted islands--ghosts--fatal to +discipline. I used to have cruises spoiled by that sort of thing. We +must stay here and chance being found." + +He shot a stream of Java sugar into the tea, and, staring at the +sleepers, rubbed his shaven head thoughtfully. + +"Oh, yes, 'superstition,' all very easy to say," he muttered, half to +himself. "But who _knows_, eh? Must be something in it, at times." + +His mood this afternoon was new and surprising. Nor was it likely to +occur often in such a man. He had brought the _Fulmar_ round the south +of Celebes, making for Ceram; but as the Dutch had forbidden him to +travel in the interior, saying that the natives were too dangerous just +then; and as Sidin, the mate, had sighted the Dutch tricolor flying +above drab hulls that came nosing southward from Amboina way, we had +dodged behind the Bandas till nightfall. The crew laughed at the _babi +blanda_--Dutch pigs; but every man of them would have fled ashore had +they known that among the hampers and bundled spears in our hold lay the +dried head of a little girl, a human sacrifice from Engano. If we got +into Ceram (and got out again), the doctor would reduce the whole affair +to a few tables of anthropological measurements, a few more hampers of +birds, beasts, and native rubbish in the hold, and a score of paragraphs +couched in the evaporated, millimetric terms of science. There would be +a few duplicates for Raffles, some tin-lined cases, including the +clotted head of the little girl, for the British Museum; the total +upshot would attract much less public notice than the invention of a new +"part" for a motor car; and the august structure of science, like a +coral tree, would increase by another atom. In the meantime, we lay +anchored, avoiding ironclads and ghosts. + +Dinner we ate below, with seaward port-holes blinded, and sweat dripping +from our chins. Then we lay on the cabin roof again, in breech-clouts, +waiting for a breeze, and showing no light except the red coals of two +Burmah cheroots. + +For long spaces we said nothing. Trilling of crickets ashore, sleepy +cooing of nutmeg-pigeons, chatter of monkeys, hiccough of tree lizards, +were as nothing in the immense, starlit silence of the night, heavily +sweet with cassia and mace. Forward, the Malays murmured now and then, +in sentences of monotonous cadence. + +"No, you can't blame them," said the captain abruptly, with decision. +"Considering the unholy strangeness of the world we live in----" He +puffed twice, the palm of his hand glowing. "Things you can't explain," +he continued vaguely. "Now this--I thought of it today, speaking of +_hantu_. Perhaps you can explain it, being a youngster without theories. +The point is, of what follows, how much, if any, was a dream? Where were +the partition lines between sleep and waking,--between what we call +Certainty, and--the other thing? Or else, by a freak of nature, might a +man live so long--Nonsense!--Never mind; here are the facts." + + * * * * * + +Eleven years ago, I had the _Fulmar_ a ten months' cruise out of +Singapore, and was finally coming down along Celebes, intending to go +over to Batavia. We anchored on just such a day as this has been, off a +little old river-mouth, so badly silted that she had to lie well out. A +chief in a _campong_ half a day inland had promised to send some +specimens down that evening,--armor, harps, stone Priapuses, and birds +of paradise. The men were to come overland, and would have no boats. So +I went ashore with three or four Malays, and the Old Boy's time we had +poking in and out over the silt to find fairway, even for the gig. At +last we could make round toward a little clearing in the bamboos, with a +big canary tree in the middle. All was going well, when suddenly the +mate grunted, pointing dead ahead. That man Sidin has the most +magnificent eyes: we were steering straight into a dazzling glare. I +couldn't see anything, neither could the crew, for some time. + +"_Tuggur_!" cried the mate. He was getting nervous. Then all of a +sudden--"_Brenti_!" + +The crew stopped like a shot. Then they saw, too, and began to back +water and turn, all pulling different ways and yelling: "_Prau hantu!... +sampar_! _...Sakit lepra! Kolera!... hantu!_" + +As we swung, I saw what it was,--a little carved prau like a child's toy +boat, perhaps four feet long, with red fiber sails and red and gilt +flags from stem to stern. It was rocking there in our swell, innocently, +but the crew were pulling for the schooner like crazy men. + +I was griffin enough at the time, but I knew what it meant, of +course,--it was an enchanted boat, that the priests in some +village--perhaps clear over in New Guinea--had charmed the cholera or +the plague on board of. Same idea as the Hebrew scapegoat. + +"_Brenti_!" I shouted. The Malays stopped rowing, but let her run. +Nothing would have tempted them within oar's-length of that prau. + +"See here, Sidin," I protested, "I go ashore to meet the _kapala's_ +men." + +"We do not go," the fellow said. "If you go, Tuan, you die: the priest +has laid the cholera on board that prau. It has come to this shore. Do +not go, Tuan." + +"She hasn't touched the land yet," I said. + +This seemed to have effect. + +"Row me round to that point and land me," I ordered. "_Hantu_ does not +come to white men. You go out to the ship; when I have met the +soldier-messengers, row back, and take me on board with the gifts." + +The mate persuaded them, and they landed me on the point, half a mile +away, with a box of cheroots, and a roll of matting to take my nap on. +I walked round to the clearing, and spread my mat under the canary tree, +close to the shore. All that blessed afternoon I waited, and smoked, and +killed a snake, and made notes in a pocket Virgil, and slept, and smoked +again; but no sign of the bearers from the _campong_. I made signals to +the schooner,--she was too far out to hail,--but the crew took no +notice. It was plain they meant to wait and see whether the _hantu_ prau +went out with the ebb or not; and as it was then flood, and dusk, they +couldn't see before morning. So I picked some bananas and chicos, and +made a dinner of them; then I lighted a fire under the tree, to smoke +and read Virgil by,--in fact, spent the evening over my notes. That +editor was a _pukkah_ ass! It must have been pretty late before I +stretched out on my matting. + +I was a long time going to sleep,--if I went to sleep at all. I lay and +watched the firelight and shadows in the _lianas_, the bats fluttering +in and out across my patch of stars, and an ape that stole down from +time to time and peered at me, sticking his blue face out from among the +creepers. At one time a shower fell in the clearing, but only pattered +on my ceiling of broad leaves. + +After a period of drowsiness, something moved and glittered on the +water, close to the bank; and there bobbed the ghost prau, the gilt and +vermilion flags shining in the firelight. She had come clear in on the +flood,--a piece of luck. I got up, cut a withe of bamboo, and made her +fast to a root. Then I fed the fire, lay down again, and watched her +back and fill on her tether,--all clear and ruddy in the flame, even +the carvings, and the little wooden figures of wizards on her deck. And +while I looked, I grew drowsier and drowsier; my eyes would close, then +half open, and there would be the _hantu_ sails and the fire for +company, growing more and more indistinct. + +So much for Certainty; now begins the Other. Did I fall asleep at all? +If so, was my first waking a dream-waking, and the real one only when +the thing was gone? I'm not an imaginative man; my mind, at home, +usually worked with some precision; but this,--there seems to be, you +might say, a blur, a--film over my mental retina. You see, I'm not a +psychologist, and therefore can't use the big, foggy terms of man's +conceit to explain what he never can explain,--himself, and Life. + + * * * * * + +The captain tossed his cheroot overboard, and was silent for a space. + +"The psychologists forget Æsop's frog story," he said at last. "Little +swollen Egos, again." + +Then his voice flowed on, slowly, in the dark. + + * * * * * + +I ask you just to believe this much: that I for my part feel sure +(except sometimes by daylight) that I was not more than half asleep when +a footfall seemed to come in the path, and waked me entirely. It didn't +sound,--only seemed to come. I believe, then, that I woke, roused up on +my elbow, and stared over at the opening among the bamboos where the +path came into the clearing. Some one moved down the bank, and drew +slowly forward to the edge of the firelight. A strange, whispering, +uncertain kind of voice said something,--something in Dutch. + +I didn't catch the words, and it spoke again:-- + +"What night of the month is this night?" + +If awake, I was just enough so to think this a natural question to be +asked first off, out here in the wilds. + +"It's the 6th," I answered in Dutch. "Come down to the fire, Mynheer." + +You know how bleary and sightless your eyes are for a moment, waking, +after the glare of these days. The figure seemed to come a little +nearer, but I could only see that it was a man dressed in black. Even +that didn't seem odd. + +"Of what month?" the stranger said. The voice was what the French call +"veiled." + +"June," I answered. + +"And what year?" he asked. + +I told him--or It. + +"He is very late," said the voice, like a sigh. "He should have sent +long ago." + +Only at this point did the whole thing begin to seem queer. As evidence +that I must have been awake, I recalled afterwards that my arm had been +made numb by the pressure of my head upon it while lying down, and now +began to tingle. + +"It is very late," the voice repeated. "Perhaps too late----" + +The fire settled, flared up fresh, and lighted the man's face dimly,--a +long, pale face with gray mustache and pointed beard. He was all in +black, so that his outline was lost in darkness; but I saw that round +his neck was a short white ruff, and that heavy leather boots hung in +folds, cavalier-fashion, from his knees. He wavered there in the dark, +against the flicker of the bamboo shadows, like a picture by that Dutch +fellow--What's-his-name-again--a very dim, shaky, misty Rembrandt. + +"And you, Mynheer," he went on, in the same toneless voice, "from where +do you come to this shore?" + +"From Singapore," I managed to reply. + +"From Singapura," he murmured. "And so white men live there now?--_Ja, +ja_, time has passed." + +Up till now I may have only been startled, but this set me in a blue +funk. It struck me all at once that this shaky old whisper of a voice +was not speaking the Dutch of nowadays. I never before knew the depths, +the essence, of that uncertainty which we call fear. In the silence, I +thought a drum was beating,--it was the pulse in my ears. The fire close +by was suddenly cold. + +"And now you go whither?" it said. + +"To Batavia," I must have answered, for it went on:-- + +"Then you may do a great service to me and to another. Go to Jacatra in +Batavia, and ask for Pieter Erberveld. Hendrik van der Have tells him to +cease--before it is too late, before the thing becomes accursed. Tell +him this. You will have done well, and I--shall sleep again. Give him +the message----" + +The voice did not stop, so much as fade away unfinished. And the man, +the appearance, the eyes, moved away further into the dark, dissolving, +retreating. A shock like waking came over me--a rush of clear +consciousness---- + +Humph! Yes, been too long away from home; for I know (mind you, _know_) +that I saw the white of that ruff, the shadowy sweep of a cloak, as +something turned its back and moved up the path under the pointed arch +of bamboos, and was gone slowly in the blackness. I'm as sure of this as +I am that the fire gave no heat. But whether the time of it all had been +seconds or hours, I can't tell you. + +What? Yes, naturally. I jumped and ran up the path after it. Nothing +there but starlight. I must have gone on for half a mile. Nothing: only +ahead of me, along the path, the monkeys would chatter and break into an +uproar, and then stop short--every treetop silent, as they do when a +python comes along. I went back to the clearing, sat down on the mat, +stayed there by clinching my will power, so to speak,--and watched +myself for other symptoms, till morning. None came. The fire, when I +heaped it, was as hot as any could be. By dawn I had persuaded myself +that it was a dream. No footprints in the path, though I mentioned a +shower before. + +At sunrise, the _kapala's_ men came down the path, little chaps in black +mediæval armor made of petroleum tins, and coolies carrying piculs of +stuff that I wanted. So I was busy,--but managed to dismast the _hantu_ +prau and wrap it up in matting, so that it went aboard with the plunder. + +Yet this other thing bothered me so that I held the schooner over, and +made pretexts to stay ashore two more nights. Nothing happened. Then I +called myself a grandmother, and sailed for Batavia. + +Two nights later, a very singular thing happened. The mate--this one +with the sharp eyes--is a quiet chap; seldom speaks to me except on +business. He was standing aft that evening, and suddenly, without any +preliminaries, said: + +"Tuan was not alone the other night." + +"What's that, Sidin?" I spoke sharply, for it made me feel quite angry +and upset, of a sudden. He laughed a little, softly. + +"I saw that the fire was a cold fire," he said. That was all he would +say, and we've never referred to it again. + +You may guess the rest, if you know your history of Java. I didn't then, +and didn't even know Batavia,--had been ashore often, but only for a +_toelatingskaart_ and some good Dutch chow. Well, one afternoon, I was +loafing down a street, and suddenly noticed that the sign-board said, +"Jacatra-weg." The word made me jump, and brought the whole affair on +Celebes back like a shot,--and not as a dream. It became a live +question; I determined to treat it as one, and settle it. + +I stopped a fat Dutchman who was paddling down the middle of the street +in his pyjamas, smoking a cigar. + +"Pardon, Mynheer," I said. "Does a man live here in Jacatra-weg named +Erberveld?" + +"_Nej_," he shook his big shaved head. "_Nej_, Mynheer, I do not know." + +"Pieter Erberveld," I suggested. + +The man broke into a horse-laugh. + +"_Ja, ja_," he said, and laughed still. "I did not think of him. _Ja_, +on this way, opposite the timber yard, you will find his house." And he +went off, bowing and grinning hugely. + +The nature of the joke appeared later, but I wasn't inclined to laugh. +You've seen the place. No? Right opposite a timber yard in a cocoanut +grove: it was a heavy, whitewashed wall, as high as a man, and perhaps +two perches long. Where the gate should have been, a big tablet was set +in, and over that, on a spike, a skull, grinning through a coat of +cement. The tablet ran in eighteenth-century Dutch, about like this:-- + + BY REASON OF THE DETESTABLE MEMORY OF THE CONVICTED TRAITOR, PIETER + ERBERVELD, NO ONE SHALL BE PERMITTED TO BUILD IN WOOD OR STONE OR + TO PLANT ANYTHING UPON THIS GROUND, FROM NOW TILL JUDGMENT DAY. + BATAVIA, APRIL 14, ANNO 1772. + +You'll find the story in any book: the chap was a half-caste Guy Fawkes +who conspired to deliver Batavia to the King of Bantam, was caught, +tried, and torn asunder by horses. I nosed about and went through a hole +in a side wall: nothing in the compound but green mould, dried stalks, +dead leaves, and blighted banana trees. The inside of the gate was +blocked with five to eight feet of cement. The Dutch hate solidly. + +But Hendrik van der Have? No, I never found the name in any of the +books. So there you are. Well? Can a man dream of a thing before he +knows that thing, or---- + + * * * * * + +The captain's voice, which had flowed on in slow and dispassionate +soliloquy, became half audible, and ceased. As we gave ear to the +silence, we became aware that a cool stir in the darkness was growing +into a breeze. After a time, the thin crowing of game-cocks in distant +villages, the first twitter of birds among the highest branches, told us +that night had turned to morning. A soft patter of bare feet came along +the deck, a shadow stood above us, and the low voice of the mate said: + +"_Ada kapal api disitu, Tuan_--_saiah kirah_--_ada kapal prrang_." + +"Gunboat, eh?" Captain Forsythe was on his feet, and speaking briskly. +"_Bai, tarek jangcar_. Breeze comes just in time." + +We peered seaward from the rail; far out, two pale lights, between a red +coal and a green, shone against the long, glimmering strip of dawn. + +"Heading this way, but there's plenty of time," the captain said +cheerfully. "Take the wheel a minute, youngster--that's it,--keep her +in,--they can't see us against shore where it's still night." + +As the schooner swung slowly under way, his voice rose, gay as a +boy's:-- + +"Come on, you rice-fed admirals!" He made an improper gesture, his +profile and outspread fingers showing in the glow-worm light of the +binnacle. "If they follow us through by the Verdronken Rozengain, we'll +show them one piece 'e navigation. Can do, eh? These old iron-clad junks +are something a man knows how to deal with." + + + + +MISS JUNO + +BY + +CHARLES WARREN STODDARD + +_Copyright_, 1903, by A. M. Robertson Reprinted from FOR THE PLEASURE OF +HIS COMPANY + + +I + +THERE was an episode in the life of Paul Clitheroe that may possibly +throw some little light upon the mystery of his taking off; and in +connection with this matter it is perhaps worth detailing. + +One morning Paul found a drop-letter in the mail which greeted him +daily. It ran as follows: + + DEAR OLD BOY: + + Don't forget the reception tomorrow. Some one will be here whom I + wish you to know. + + Most affectionately, + + HARRY ENGLISH. + +The "tomorrow" referred to was the very day on which Paul received the +sweet reminder. The reception of the message somewhat disturbed his +customary routine. To be sure, he glanced through the morning journal as +usual; repaired to the Greek chop-house with the dingy green walls, the +smoked ceiling, the glass partition that separated the guests from a +kitchen lined with shining copper pans, where a cook in a white paper +cap wafted himself about in clouds of vapor, lit by occasional flashes +of light and ever curling flames, like a soul expiating its sins in a +prescribed but savory purgatory. He sat in his chosen seat, ignored his +neighbors with his customary nonchalance, and returned to his room, as +if nothing were about to happen. But he accomplished little, for he felt +that the day was not wholly his; so slight a cause seemed to change the +whole current of his life from hour to hour. + +In due season Paul entered a street car which ran to the extreme limit +of San Francisco. Harry English lived not far from the terminus, and to +the cozy home of this most genial and hospitable gentleman the youth +wended his way. The house stood upon the steep slope of a hill; the +parlor was upon a level with the street,--a basement dining-room below +it,--but the rear of the house was quite in the air and all of the rear +windows commanded a magnificent view of the North Bay with its islands +and the opposite mountainous shore. + +"Infinite riches in a little room," was the expression which came +involuntarily to Paul's lips the first time he crossed the threshold of +Thespian Lodge. He might have said it of the Lodge any day in the week; +the atmosphere was always balmy and soothing; one could sit there +without talking or caring to talk; even without realizing that one was +not talking and not being talked to; the silence was never ominous; it +was a wholesome and restful home, where Paul was ever welcome and +whither he often fled for refreshment. + +The walls of the whole house were crowded with pictures, framed +photographs and autographs, chiefly of theatrical celebrities; both +"Harry," as the world familiarly called him, and his wife, were members +of the dramatic profession and in their time had played many parts in +almost as many lands and latitudes. + +There was one chamber in this delightful home devoted exclusively to the +pleasures of entomology, and there the head of the house passed most of +the hours which he was free to spend apart from the duties of his +profession. He was a man of inexhaustible resources, consummate energy, +and unflagging industry, yet one who was never in the least hurried or +flurried; and he was Paul's truest and most judicious friend. + +The small parlor at the Englishes was nearly filled with guests when +Paul Clitheroe arrived upon the scene. These guests were not sitting +against the wall talking at each other; the room looked as if it were +set for a scene in a modern society comedy. In the bay window, a bower +of verdure, an extremely slender and diminutive lady was discoursing +eloquently with the superabundant gesticulation of the successful +society amateur; she was dilating upon the latest production of a minor +poet whose bubble reputation was at that moment resplendent with local +rainbows. Her chief listener was a languid beauty of literary +aspirations, who, in a striking pose, was fit audience for the little +lady as she frothed over with delightful, if not contagious, enthusiasm. + +Mrs. English, who had been a famous belle--no one who knew her now would +for a moment question the fact--devoted herself to the entertainment of +a group of silent people, people of the sort that are not only +colorless, but seem to dissipate the color in their immediate vicinity. +The world is full of such; they spring up, unaccountably, in locations +where they appear to the least advantage. Many a clever person who would +delight to adorn a circle he longs to enter, and where he would be +hailed with joy, through modesty, hesitates to enter it; while others, +who are of no avail in any wise whatever, walk bravely in and find +themselves secure through a quiet system of polite insistence. Among the +latter, the kind of people to be merely tolerated, we find, also, the +large majority. + +Two children remarkably self-possessed seized upon Paul the moment he +entered the room: a beautiful lad as gentle and as graceful as a girl, +and his tiny sister, who bore herself with the dignity of a little lady +of Lilliput. He was happy with them, quite as happy as if they were as +old and experienced as their elders and as well entertained by them, +likewise. He never in his life made the mistake that is, alas, made by +most parents and guardians, of treating children as if they were little +simpletons who can be easily deceived. How often they look with scorn +upon their elders who are playing the hypocrite to eyes which are, for +the most part, singularly critical! Having paid his respects to those +present--he was known to all--Paul was led a willing captive into the +chamber where Harry English and a brother professional, an eccentric +comedian, who apparently never uttered a line which he had not learned +out of a play-book, were examining with genuine enthusiasm certain cases +of brilliantly tinted butterflies. + +The children were quite at their ease in this house, and no wonder; +California children are born philosophers; to them the marvels of the +somewhat celebrated entomological collection were quite familiar; again +and again they had studied the peculiarities of the most rare and +beautiful specimens of insect life under the loving tutelage of their +friend, who had spent his life and a small fortune in gathering together +his treasures, and they were even able to explain in the prettiest +fashion the origin and use of the many curious objects that were +distributed about the rooms. + +Meanwhile Mme. Lillian, the dramatic one, had left her bower in the bay +window and was flitting to and fro in nervous delight; she had much to +say and it was always worth listening to. With available opportunities +she would have long since become famous and probably a leader of her +sex; but it was her fate to coach those of meaner capacities who were +ultimately to win fame and fortune while she toiled on, in genteel +poverty, to the end of her weary days. + +No two women could be more unlike than this many-summered butterfly, as +she hovered among her friends, and a certain comedy queen who was posing +and making a picture of herself; the latter was regarded by the +society-privates, who haunted with fearful delight the receptions at +Thespian Lodge, with the awe that inspired so many inexperienced people +who look upon members of the dramatic profession as creatures of another +and not a better world, and considerably lower than the angels. + +Two hours passed swiftly by; nothing ever jarred upon the guests in this +house; the perfect suavity of the host and hostess forbade anything like +antagonism among their friends; and though such dissimilar elements +might never again harmonize, they were tranquil for the time at least. + +The adieus were being said in the chamber of entomology, which was +somewhat overcrowded and faintly impregnated with the odor of _corrosive +sublimate_. From the windows overlooking the bay there was visible the +expanse of purple water and the tawny, sunburnt hills beyond, while +pale-blue misty mountains marked the horizon with an undulating outline. +A ship under full sail--a glorious and inspiring sight--was bearing down +before the stiff westerly breeze. + +Mme. Lillian made an apt quotation which terminated with a Delsartean +gesture and a rising inflection that seemed to exact something from +somebody; the comedienne struck one of her property attitudes, so +irresistibly comic that every one applauded, and Mme. Lillian laughed +herself to tears; then they all drifted toward the door. As mankind in +general has much of the sheep in him, one guest having got as far as the +threshold, the others followed; Paul was left alone with the Englishes +and those clever youngsters, whose coachman, accustomed to waiting +indefinitely at the Lodge, was dutifully dozing on the box seat. The +children began to romp immediately upon the departure of the last guest, +and during the riotous half-hour that succeeded, there was a fresh +arrival. The door-bell rang; Mrs. English, who was close at hand, turned +to answer it and at once bubbled over with unaffected delight. Harry, +still having his defunct legions in solemn review, recognized a cheery, +un-American voice, and cried, "There she is at last!" as he hastened to +meet the newcomer. + +Paul was called to the parlor where a young lady of the ultra-blonde +type stood with a faultlessly gloved hand in the hand of each of her +friends; she was radiant with life and health. Of all the young ladies +Paul could at that moment remember having seen, she was the most +exquisitely clad; the folds of her gown fell about her form like the +drapery of a statue; he was fascinated from the first moment of their +meeting. He noticed that nothing about her was ever disarranged; neither +was there anything superfluous or artificial, in manner or dress. She +was in his opinion an entirely artistic creation. She met him with a +perfectly frank smile, as if she were an old friend suddenly discovering +herself to him, and when Harry English had placed the hand of this +delightful person in one of Paul's she at once withdrew the other, which +Mrs. English fondly held, and struck it in a hearty half-boyish manner +upon their clasped hands, saying, "Awfully glad to see you, Paul!" and +she evidently meant it. + +This was Miss. Juno, an American girl bred in Europe, now, after years +of absence, passing a season in her native land. Her parents, who had +taken a country home in one of the California valleys, found in their +only child all that was desirable in life. This was not to be wondered +at; it may be said of her in the theatrical parlance that she "filled +the stage." When Miss. Juno dawned upon the scene the children grew +grave, and, after a little delay, having taken formal leave of the +company, they entered their carriage and were rapidly driven homeward. + +If Paul and Miss. Juno had been formed for one another and were now, at +the right moment and under the most favorable auspices, brought +together for the first time, they could not have mated more naturally. +If Miss. Juno had been a young man, instead of a very charming woman, +she would of course have been Paul's chum. If Paul had been a young +woman--some of his friends thought he had narrowly escaped it and did +not hesitate to say so--he would instinctively have become her +confidante. As it was, they promptly entered into a sympathetic +friendship which seemed to have been without beginning and was +apparently to be without end. + +They began to talk of the same things at the same moment, often uttering +the very same words and then turned to one another with little shouts of +unembarrassed laughter. They agreed upon all points, and aroused each +other to a ridiculous pitch of enthusiasm over nothing in particular. + +Harry English beamed; there was evidently nothing wanted to complete his +happiness. Mrs. English, her eyes fairly dancing with delight, could +only exclaim at intervals, "Bless the boy!" or, "What a pair of +children!" then fondly pass her arm about the waist of Miss. Juno--which +was not waspish in girth--or rest her hand upon Paul's shoulder with a +show of maternal affection peculiarly grateful to him. It was with +difficulty the half-dazed young fellow could keep apart from Miss. Juno. +If he found she had wandered into the next room, while he was engaged +for a moment, he followed at his earliest convenience, and when their +eyes met they smiled responsively without knowing why, and indeed not +caring in the least to know. + +They were as ingenuous as two children in their liking for one another; +their trust in each other would have done credit to the Babes in the +Wood. What Paul realized, without any preliminary analysis of his mind +or heart, was that he wanted to be near her, very near her; and that he +was miserable when this was not the case. If she was out of his sight +for a moment the virtue seemed to have gone from him and he fell into +the pathetic melancholy which he enjoyed in the days when he wrote a +great deal of indifferent verse, and was burdened with the conviction +that his mission in life was to make rhymes without end. + +In those days, he had acquired the habit of pitying himself. The +emotional middle-aged woman is apt to encourage the romantic young man +in pitying himself; it is a grewsome habit, and stands sturdily in the +way of all manly effort. Paul had outgrown it to a degree, but there is +nothing easier in life than a relapse--perhaps nothing so natural, yet +often so unexpected. + +Too soon the friends who had driven Miss. Juno to Thespian Lodge and +passed on--being unacquainted with the Englishes--called to carry her +away with them. She was shortly--in a day or two in fact--to rejoin her +parents, and she did not hesitate to invite Paul to pay them a visit. +This he assured her he would do with pleasure, and secretly vowed that +nothing on earth should prevent him. They shook hands cordially at +parting, and were still smiling their baby smiles in each other's faces +when they did it. Paul leaned against the door-jamb, while the genial +Harry and his wife followed his new-found friend to the carriage, where +they were duly presented to its occupants--said occupants promising to +place Thespian Lodge upon their list. As the carriage whirled away, +Miss. Juno waved that exquisitely gloved hand from the window and Paul's +heart beat high; somehow he felt as if he had never been quite so happy. +And this going away struck him as being a rather cruel piece of +business. To tell the whole truth, he couldn't understand why she should +go at all. + +He felt it more and more, as he sat at dinner with his old friends, the +Englishes, and ate with less relish than common the delicious Yorkshire +pudding and drank the musty ale. He felt it as he accompanied his +friends to the theater, where he sat with Mrs. English, while she +watched with pride the husband whose impersonations she was never weary +of witnessing; but Paul seemed to see him without recognizing him, and +even the familiar voice sounded unfamiliar, or like a voice in a dream. +He felt it more and more when good Mrs. English gave him a nudge toward +the end of the evening and called him "a stupid," half in sport and half +in earnest; and when he had delivered that excellent woman into the care +of her liege lord and had seen them securely packed into the horse-car +that was to drag them tediously homeward in company with a great +multitude of suffocating fellow-sufferers, he felt it; and all the way +out the dark street and up the hill that ran, or seemed to run, into +outer darkness--where his home was--he felt as if he had never been the +man he was until now, and that it was all for _her_ sake and through +_her_ influence that this sudden and unexpected transformation had come +to pass. And it seemed to him that if he were not to see her again, +very soon, his life would be rendered valueless; and that only to see +her were worth all the honor and glory that he had ever aspired to in +his wildest dreams; and that to be near her always and to feel that he +were much--nay, everything--to her, as before God he felt that at that +moment she was to him, would make his life one long Elysium, and to +death would add a thousand stings. + + +II + +Saadi had no hand in it, yet all Persia could not outdo it. The whole +valley ran to roses. They covered the earth; they fell from lofty +trellises in fragrant cataracts; they played over the rustic arbors like +fountains of color and perfume; they clambered to the cottage roof and +scattered their bright petals in showers upon the grass. They were of +every tint and texture; of high and low degree, modest or haughty as the +case might be--but roses all of them, and such roses as California alone +can boast. And some were fat or _passé_, and more's the pity, but all +were fragrant, and the name of that sweet vale was Santa Rosa. + +Paul was in the garden with Miss. Juno. He had followed her thither with +what speed he dared. She had expected him; there was not breathing-space +for conventionality between these two. In one part of the garden sat an +artist at his easel; by his side a lady somewhat his senior, but of the +type of face and figure that never really grows old, or looks it. She +was embroidering flowers from nature, tinting them to the life, and +rivaling her companion in artistic effects. These were the parents of +Miss. Juno--or rather not quite that. Her mother had been twice married; +first, a marriage of convenience darkened the earlier years of her life; +Miss. Juno was the only reward for an age of domestic misery. A +clergyman joined these parties--God had nothing to do with the compact; +it would seem that he seldom has. A separation very naturally and very +properly followed in the course of time; a young child was the only +possible excuse for the delay of the divorce. Thus are the sins of the +fathers visited upon the grandchildren. Then came a marriage of love. +The artist who having found his ideal had never known a moment's +weariness, save when he was parted from her side. Their union was +perfect; God had joined them. The stepfather to Miss. Juno had always +been like a big brother to her--even as her mother had always seemed +like an elder sister. + +Oh, what a trio was that, my countrymen, where liberty, fraternity and +equality joined hands without howling about it and making themselves a +nuisance in the nostrils of their neighbors! + +Miss. Juno stood in a rose-arbor and pointed to the artists at their +work. + +"Did you ever see anything like that, Paul?" + +"Like what?" + +"Like those sweet simpletons yonder. They have for years been quite +oblivious of the world about them. Thrones might topple, empires rise +and fall, it would matter nothing to them so long as their garden +bloomed, and the birds nested and sung, and he sold a picture once in an +age that the larder might not go bare." + +"I've seen something like it, Miss. Juno. I've seen fellows who never +bothered themselves about the affairs of others,--who, in short, minded +their own business strictly--and they got credit for being selfish." + +"Were they happy?" + +"Yes, in their way. Probably their way wasn't my way, and their kind of +happiness would bore me to death. You know happiness really can't be +passed around, like bon-bons or sherbet, for every one to taste. I hate +bon-bons: do you like them?" + +"That depends upon the quality and flavor--and--perhaps somewhat upon +who offers them. I never buy bon-bons for my private and personal +pleasure. Do any of you fellows really care for bon-bons?" + +"That depends upon the kind of happiness we are in quest of; I mean the +quality and flavor of the girl we are going to give them to." + +"Have girls a flavor?" + +"Some of them have--perhaps most of them haven't; neither have they form +nor feature, nor tint nor texture, nor anything that appeals to a fellow +of taste and sentiment." + +"I'm sorry for these girls of yours----" + +"You needn't be sorry for the girls; they are not my girls, and not one +of them ever will be mine if I can help it----" + +"Oh, indeed!" + +"They are nothing to me, and I'm nothing to them; but they are +just--they are just the formless sort of thing that a formless sort of +fellow always marries; they help to fill up the world, you know." + +"Yes, they help to fill a world that is overfull already. Poor Mama and +Eugene don't know how full it is. When Gene wants to sell a picture and +can't, he thinks it's a desert island." + +"Probably they could live on a desert island and be perfectly happy and +content," said Paul. + +"Of course they could; the only trouble would be that unless some one +called them at the proper hours they'd forget to eat--and some day +they'd be found dead locked in their last embrace." + +"How jolly!" + +"Oh, very jolly for very young lovers; they are usually such fools!" + +"And yet, I believe I'd like to be a fool for love's sake, Miss. Juno." + +"Oh, Paul, you are one for your own,--at least I'll think so, if you +work yourself into this silly vein!" + +Paul was silent and thoughtful. After a pause she continued. + +"The trouble with you is, you fancy yourself in love with every new girl +you meet--at least with the latest one, if she is at all out of the +ordinary line." + +"The trouble with me is that I don't keep on loving the same girl long +enough to come to the happy climax--if the climax _is_ to be a happy +one; of course it doesn't follow that it is to be anything of the sort. +I've been brought up in the bosom of too many families to believe in the +lasting quality of love. Yet they are happy, you say, those two gentle +people perpetuating spring on canvas and cambric. See, there is a small +cloud of butterflies hovering about them--one of them is panting in +fairy-like ecstasy on the poppy that decorates your Mama's hat!" + +Paul rolled a cigarette and offered it to Miss. Juno, in a mild spirit +of bravado. To his delight she accepted it, as if it were the most +natural thing in the world for a girl to do. He rolled another and they +sat down together in the arbor full of contentment. + +"Have you never been in love?" asked Paul suddenly. + +"Yes, I suppose so. I was engaged once; you know girls instinctively +engage themselves to some one whom they fancy; they imagine themselves +in love, and it is a pleasant fallacy. My engagement might have gone on +forever, if he had contented himself with a mere engagement. He was a +young army officer stationed miles and miles away. We wrote volumes of +letters to each other--and they were clever letters; it was rather like +a seaside novelette, our love affair. He was lonely, or restless, or +something, and pressed his case. Then Mama and Gene--those ideal +lovers--put their feet down and would none of it." + +"And you?" + +"Of course I felt perfectly wretched for a whole week, and imagined +myself cruelly abused. You see he was a foreigner, without money; he was +heir to a title, but that would have brought him no advantages in the +household." + +"You recovered. What became of him?" + +"I never learned. He seemed to fade away into thin air. I fear I was not +very much in love." + +"I wonder if all girls are like you--if they forget so easily?" + +"You have yourself declared that the majority have neither form nor +feature; perhaps they have no feeling. How do men feel about a broken +engagement?" + +"I can only speak for myself. There was a time when I felt that marriage +was the inevitable fate of all respectable people. Some one wanted me to +marry a certain some one else. I didn't seem to care much about it; but +my friend was one of those natural-born match-makers; she talked the +young lady up to me in such a shape that I almost fancied myself in love +and actually began to feel that I'd be doing her an injustice if I +permitted her to go on loving and longing for the rest of her days. So +one day I wrote her a proposal; it was the kind of proposal one might +decline without injuring a fellow's feelings in the least--and she did +it!" After a thoughtful pause he continued: + +"By Jove! But wasn't I immensely relieved when her letter came; such a +nice, dear, good letter it was, too, in which she assured me there had +evidently been a mistake somewhere, and nothing had been further from +her thoughts than the hope of marrying me. So she let me down most +beautifully----" + +"And offered to be a sister to you?" + +"Perhaps; I don't remember now; I always felt embarrassed after that +when her name was mentioned. I couldn't help thinking what an infernal +ass I'd made of myself." + +"It was all the fault of your friend." + +"Of course it was; I'd never have dreamed of proposing to her if I +hadn't been put up to it by the match-maker. Oh, what a lot of miserable +marriages are brought on in just this way! You see when I like a girl +ever so much, I seem to like her too well to marry her. I think it +would be mean of me to marry her." + +"Why?" + +"Because--because I'd get tired after a while; everybody does, sooner or +later,--everybody save your Mama and Eugene,--and then I'd say something +or do something I ought not to say or do, and I'd hate myself for it; or +she'd say something or do something that would make me hate her. We +might, of course, get over it and be very nice to one another; but we +could never be quite the same again. Wounds leave scars, and you can't +forget a scar--can you?" + +"You may scar too easily!" + +"I suppose I do, and that is the very best reason why I should avoid the +occasion of one." + +"So you have resolved never to marry?" + +"Oh, I've resolved it a thousand times, and yet, somehow, I'm forever +meeting some one a little out of the common; some one who takes me by +storm, as it were; some one who seems to me a kind of revelation, and +then I feel as if I must marry her whether or no; sometimes I fear I +shall wake up and find myself married in spite of myself--wouldn't that +be frightful?" + +"Frightful indeed--and then you'd have to get used to it, just as most +married people get used to it in the course of time. You know it's a +very matter-of-fact world we live in, and it takes very matter-of-fact +people to keep it in good running order." + +"Yes. But for these drudges, these hewers of wood and drawers of water, +that ideal pair yonder could not go on painting and embroidering things +of beauty with nothing but the butterflies to bother them." + +"Butterflies don't bother; they open new vistas of beauty, and they set +examples that it would do the world good to follow; the butterfly says, +'my mission is to be brilliant and jolly and to take no thought of the +morrow.'" + +"It's the thought of the morrow, Miss. Juno, that spoils today for +me,--that morrow--who is going to pay the rent of it? Who is going to +keep it in food and clothes?" + +"Paul, you have already lived and loved, where there is no rent to pay +and where the clothing worn is not worth mentioning; as for the food and +the drink in that delectable land, nature provides them both. I don't +see why you need to take thought of the morrow; all you have to do is to +take passage for some South Sea Island, and let the world go by." + +"But the price of the ticket, my friend; where is that to come from? To +be sure I'm only a bachelor, and have none but myself to consider. What +would I do if I had a wife and family to provide for?" + +"You'd do as most other fellows in the same predicament do; you'd +provide for them as well as you could; and if that wasn't sufficient, +you'd desert them, or blow your brains out and leave them to provide for +themselves." + +"An old bachelor is a rather comfortable old party. I'm satisfied with +my manifest destiny; but I'm rather sorry for old maids--aren't you?" + +"That depends; of course everything in life depends; some of the most +beautiful, the most blessed, the most bountifully happy women I have +ever known were old maids; I propose to be one myself--if I live long +enough!" + +After an interlude, during which the bees boomed among the +honey-blossoms, the birds caroled on the boughs, and the two artists +laughed softly as they chatted at their delightful work, Paul resumed: + +"Do you know, Miss. Juno, this anti-climax strikes me as being +exceedingly funny? When I met you the other day, I felt as if I'd met my +fate. I know well enough that I'd felt that way often before, and +promptly recovered from the attack. I certainly never felt it in the +same degree until I came face to face with you. I was never quite so +fairly and squarely face to face with any one before. I came here +because I could not help myself. I simply had to come, and to come at +once. I was resolved to propose to you and to marry you without a cent, +if you'd let me. I didn't expect that you'd let me, but I felt it my +duty to find out. I'm dead sure that I was very much in love with +you--and I am now; but somehow it isn't that spoony sort of love that +makes a man unwholesome and sometimes drives him to drink or to suicide. +I suppose I love you too well to want to marry you; but God knows how +glad I am that we have met, and I hope that we shall never really part +again." + +"Paul!"--Miss. Juno's rather too pallid cheeks were slightly tinged with +rose; she seemed more than ever to belong to that fair garden, to have +become a part of it, in fact;--"Paul," said she, earnestly enough, +"you're an awfully good fellow, and I like you so much; I shall always +like you; but if you had been fool enough to propose to me I should have +despised you. Shake!" And she extended a most shapely hand that clasped +his warmly and firmly. While he still held it without restraint, he +added: + +"Why I like you so much is because you are unlike other girls; that is +to say, you're perfectly natural." + +"Most people who think me unlike other girls, think me unnatural for +that reason. It is hard to be natural, isn't it?" + +"Why, no, I think it is the easiest thing in the world to be natural. +I'm as natural as I can be, or as anybody can be." + +"And yet I've heard you pronounced a bundle of affectations." + +"I know that--it's been said in my hearing, but I don't care in the +least; it is natural for the perfectly natural person _not_ to care in +the least." + +"I think, perhaps, it is easier for boys to be natural, than for girls," +said Miss. Juno. + +"Yes, boys are naturally more natural," replied Paul with much +confidence. + +Miss. Juno smiled an amused smile. + +Paul resumed--"I hardly ever knew a girl who didn't wish herself a boy. +Did you ever see a boy who wanted to be a girl?" + +"I've seen some who ought to have been girls--and who would have made +very droll girls. I know an old gentleman who used to bewail the +degeneracy of the age and exclaim in despair, 'Boys will be girls!'" +laughed Miss. Juno. + +"Horrible thought! But why is it that girlish boys are so unpleasant +while tom-boys are delightful?" + +"I don't know," replied she, "unless the girlish boy has lost the charm +of his sex, that is manliness; and the tom-boy has lost the defect of +hers--a kind of selfish dependence." + +"I'm sure the girls like you, don't they?'' he added. + +"Not always; and there are lots of girls I can't endure!" + +"I've noticed that women who are most admired by women are seldom +popular with men; and that the women the men go wild over are little +appreciated by their own sex," said Paul. + +"Yes, I've noticed that; as for myself my best friends are masculine; +but when I was away at boarding-school my chum, who was immensely +popular, used to call me Jack!" + +"How awfully jolly; may I call you 'Jack' and will you be my chum?" + +"Of course I will; but what idiots the world would think us." + +"Who cares?" cried he defiantly. "There are millions of fellows this +very moment who would give their all for such a pal as you are--Jack!" + +There was a fluttering among the butterflies; the artists had risen and +were standing waist-deep in the garden of gracious things; they were +coming to Paul and Miss. Juno, and in amusing pantomime announcing that +pangs of hunger were compelling their return to the cottage; the truth +is, it was long past the lunch hour--and a large music-box which had +been set in motion when the light repast was laid had failed to catch +the ear with its tinkling aria. + +All four of the occupants of the garden turned leisurely toward the +cottage. Miss. Juno had rested her hand on Paul's shoulder and said in a +delightfully confidential way: "Let it be a secret that we are chums, +dear boy--the world is such an idiot." + +"All right, Jack," whispered Paul, trying to hug himself in delight, +'Little secrets are cozy.'" + +And in the scent of the roses it was duly embalmed. + + +III + +Happy is the man who is without encumbrances--that that is if he knows +how to be happy. Whenever Paul Clitheroe found the burden of the day +becoming oppressive he cast it off, and sought solace in a change of +scene. He could always, or almost always, do this at a moment's notice. +It chanced, upon a certain occasion, when a little community of artists +were celebrating the sale of a great picture--the masterpiece of one of +their number--that word was sent to Paul to join their feast. He found +the large studio where several of them worked intermittently, highly +decorated; a table was spread in a manner to have awakened an appetite +even upon the palate of the surfeited; there were music and dancing, and +bacchanalian revels that went on and on from night to day and on to +night again. It was a veritable feast of lanterns, and not until the +last one had burned to the socket and the wine-vats were empty and the +studio strewn with unrecognizable debris and permeated with odors stale, +flat and unprofitable, did the revels cease. Paul came to dine; he +remained three days; he had not yet worn out his welcome, but he had +resolved, as was his wont at intervals, to withdraw from the world, and +so he returned to the Eyrie,--which was ever his initial step toward the +accomplishment of the longed-for end. + +Not very many days later Paul received the breeziest of letters; it was +one of a series of racy rhapsodies that came to him bearing the Santa +Rosa postmark. They were such letters as a fellow might write to a +college chum, but with no line that could have brought a blush to the +cheek of modesty--not that the college chum is necessarily given to the +inditing of such epistles. These letters were signed "Jack." + +"Jack" wrote to say how the world was all in bloom and the rose-garden +one bewildering maze of blossoms; how Mama was still embroidering from +nature in the midst thereof, crowned with a wreath of butterflies and +with one uncommonly large one perched upon her Psyche shoulder and +fanning her cheek with its brilliantly dyed wing; how Eugene was +reveling in his art, painting lovely pictures of the old Spanish +Missions with shadowy outlines of the ghostly fathers, long since +departed, haunting the dismantled cloisters; how the air was like the +breath of heaven, and the twilight unspeakably pathetic, and they were +all three constantly reminded of Italy and forever talking of Rome and +the Campagna, and Venice, and imagining themselves at home again and +Paul with them, for they had resolved that he was quite out of his +element in California; they had sworn he must be rescued; he must return +with them to Italy and that right early. He must wind up his affairs and +set his house in order at once and forever; he should never go back to +it again, but live a new life and a gentler life in that oldest and most +gentle of lands; they simply _must_ take him with them and seat him by +the shore of the Venetian Sea, where he could enjoy his melancholy, if +he must be melancholy, and find himself for the first time provided with +a suitable background. This letter came to him inlaid with rose petals; +they showered upon him in all their fragrance as he read the inspiring +pages and, since "Jack" with quite a martial air had issued a mandate +which ran as follows, "Order No. 19--Paul Clitheroe will, upon receipt +of this, report immediately at headquarters at Santa Rosa," he placed +the key of his outer door in his pocket and straightway departed without +more ado. + + * * * * * + +They swung in individual hammocks, Paul and "Jack," within the +rose-screened veranda. The conjugal affinities, Violet and Eugene, were +lost to the world in the depths of the rose-garden beyond sight and +hearing. + +Said Jack, resuming a rambling conversation which had been interrupted +by the noisy passage of a bee, "That particular bee reminds me of some +people who fret over their work, and who make others who are seeking +rest, extremely uncomfortable." + +Paul was thoughtful for a few moments and then remarked: "And yet it is +a pleasant work he is engaged in, and his days are passed in the fairest +fields; he evidently enjoys his trade even if he does seem to bustle +about it. I can excuse the buzz and the hum in him, when I can't always +in the human tribes." + +"If you knew what he was saying just now, perhaps you'd find him as +disagreeable as the man who is condemned to earn his bread in the sweat +of his brow, and makes more or less of a row about it." + +"Very likely, Jack, but these bees are born with business instincts, and +they can't enjoy loafing; they don't know how to be idle. Being as busy +as a busy bee must be being very busy!" + +"There is the hum of the hive in that phrase, old boy! I'm sure you've +been working up to it all along. Come now, confess, you've had that in +hand for some little time." + +"Well, what if I have? That is what writers do, and they have to do it. +How else can they make their dialogue in the least attractive? Did you +ever write a story, Jack?" + +"No, of course not; how perfectly absurd!" + +"Not in the least absurd. You've been reading novels ever since you were +born. You've the knack of the thing, the telling of a story, the +developing of a plot, the final wind-up of the whole concern, right at +your tongue's end." + +"Paul, you're an idiot." + +"Idiot, Jack? I'm nothing of the sort and I can prove what I've just +been saying to you about yourself. Now, listen and don't interrupt me +until I've said my say." + +Paul caught hold of a branch of vine close at hand and set his hammock +swinging slowly. Miss. Juno settled herself more comfortably in hers, +and seemed much interested and amused. + +"Now," said Paul, with a comical air of importance--"now, any one who +has anything at his tongue's end, has it, or _can_, just as well as not, +have it at his finger's end. If you can tell a story well, and you can, +Jack, you know you can, you can write it just as well. You have only to +tell it with your pen instead of with your lips; and if you will only +write it exactly as you speak it, so long as your verbal version is a +good one, your pen version is bound to be equally as good; moreover, it +seems to me that in this way one is likely to adopt the most natural +style, which is, of course, the best of all styles. Now what do you say +to that?" + +"Oh, nothing," after a little pause--"however I doubt that any one, male +or female, can take up pen for the first time and tell a tale like a +practised writer." + +"Of course not. The practised writer has a style of his own, a +conventional narrative style which may be very far from nature. People +in books very seldom talk as they do in real life. When people in books +begin to talk like human beings the reader thinks the dialogue either +commonplace or mildly realistic, and votes it a bore." + +"Then why try to write as one talks? Why not cultivate the conventional +style of the practised writer?" + +"Why talk commonplaces?" cried Paul a little tartly. "Of course most +people must do so if they talk at all, and they are usually the people +who talk all the time. But I have known people whose ordinary +conversation was extraordinary, and worth putting down in a book--every +word of it." + +"In my experience," said Miss. Juno, "people who talk like books are a +burden." + +"They needn't talk like the conventional book, I tell you. Let them have +something to say and say it cleverly--that is the kind of conversation +to make books of." + +"What if all that we've been saying here, under the rose, as it were, +were printed just as we've said it?" + +"What if it were? It would at least be natural, and we've been saying +something of interest to each other; why should it not interest a third +party?" + +Miss. Juno smiled and rejoined, "I am not a confirmed eavesdropper, but +I often find myself so situated that I cannot avoid overhearing what +other people are saying to one another; it is seldom that, under such +circumstances, I hear anything that interests me." + +"Yes, but if you knew the true story of those very people, all that they +may be saying in your hearing would no doubt possess an interest, +inasmuch as it would serve to develop their history." + +"Our conversation is growing a little thin, Paul, don't you think so? We +couldn't put all this into a book." + +"If it helped to give a clue to our character and our motives, we could. +The thing is to be interesting: if we are interesting, in ourselves, by +reason of our original charm or our unconventionality, almost anything +we might say or do ought to interest others. Conventional people are +never interesting." + +"Yet the majority of mankind is conventional to a degree; the +conventionals help to fill up; their habitual love of conventionality, +or their fear of the unconventional, is what keeps them in their place. +This is very fortunate. On the other hand, a world full of people too +clever to be kept in their proper spheres, would be simply intolerable. +But there is no danger of this!" + +"Yes, you are right," said Paul after a moment's pause;--"you are +interesting, and that is why I like you so well." + +"You mean that I am unconventional?" + +"Exactly. And, as I said before, that is why I'm so awfully fond of you. +By Jove, I'm so glad I'm not in love with you, Jack." + +"So am I, old boy; I couldn't put up with that at all; you'd have to go +by the next train, you know; you would, really. And yet, if we are to +write a novel apiece we shall be obliged to put love into it; love with +a very large L." + +"No we wouldn't; I'm sure we wouldn't." + +Miss. Juno shook her golden locks in doubt--Paul went on +persistently:--"I'm dead sure we wouldn't; and to prove it, some day +I'll write a story without its pair of lovers; everybody shall be more +or less spoony--but nobody shall be really in love." + +"It wouldn't be a story, Paul." + +"It would be a history, or a fragment of a history, a glimpse of a life +at any rate, and that is as much as we ever get of the lives of those +around us. Why can't I tell you the story of one fellow--of myself for +example; how one day I met this person, and the next day I met that +person, and next week some one else comes on to the stage, and struts +his little hour and departs. I'm not trying to give my audience, my +readers, any knowledge of that other fellow. My reader must see for +himself how each of those fellows in his own way has influenced me. The +story is my story, a study of myself, nothing more or less. If the +reader don't like me he may lay me down in my cloth or paper cover, and +have nothing more to do with me. If I'm not a hero, perhaps it's not so +much my fault as my misfortune. That people are interested in me, and +show it in a thousand different ways, assures me that _my_ story, not +the story of those with whom I'm thrown in contact, is what interests +them. It's a narrow-gauge, single-track story, but it runs through a +delightful bit of country, and if my reader wants to look out of my +windows and see things as I see them and find out how they influence me +he is welcome; if he doesn't, he may get off at the very next station +and change cars for Elsewhere." + +"I shall have love in my story," said Miss. Juno, with an amusing touch +of sentiment that on her lips sounded like polite comedy. + +"You may have all the love you like, and appeal to the same old +novel-reader who has been reading the same sort of love story for the +last hundred years, and when you've finished your work and your reader +has stood by you to the sweet or bitter end, no one will be any the +wiser or better. You've taught nothing, you've untaught nothing----and +there you are!" + +"Oh! A young man with a mission! Do you propose to revolutionize?" + +"No; revolutions only roil the water. You might as well try to make +water flow up-hill as to really revolutionize anything. I'd beautify the +banks of the stream, and round the sharp turns in it, and weed it out, +and sow water-lilies, and set the white swan with her snow-flecked +breast afloat. That's what I'd do!" + +"That's the art of the landscape gardener; I don't clearly see how it is +of benefit to the novelist, Paul! Now, honestly, is it?" + +"You don't catch my meaning, Jack; girls are deuced dull, you know,--I +mean obtuse." Miss. Juno flushed. "I wasn't referring to the novel; I +was saying that instead of writing my all in a vain effort to +revolutionize anything in particular, I'd try to get all the good I +could out of the existing evil, and make the best of it. But let's not +talk in this vein any longer; I hate argument. Argument is nothing but a +logical or illogical set-to; begin it as politely as you please, it is +not long before both parties throw aside their gloves and go in with +naked and bloody fists; one of the two gets knocked out, but he hasn't +been convinced of anything in particular; he was not in condition, that +is all; better luck next time." + +"Have you the tobacco, Paul?" asked Miss Juno, extending her hand. The +tobacco was silently passed from one hammock to the other; each rolled a +cigarette, and lit it. Paul blew a great smoke ring into the air; his +companion blew a lesser one that shot rapidly after the larger halo, and +the two were speedily blended in a pretty vapor wraith. + +"That's the ghost of an argument, Jack," said Paul, glancing above. He +resumed: "What I was about to say when I was interrupted"--this was his +pet joke; he knew well enough that he had been monopolizing the +conversation of the morning--"what I was about to say was this: my novel +shall be full of love, but you won't know that it is love--I mean the +every-day love of the every-day people. In my book everybody is going to +love everybody else--or almost everybody else; if there is any sort of a +misunderstanding it sha'n't matter much. I hate rows; I believe in the +truest and the fondest fellowship. What is true love? It is bosom +friendship; that is the purest passion of love. It is the only love that +lasts." + +There was a silence for the space of some minutes; Paul and Miss. Juno +were quietly, dreamily smoking. Without, among the roses, there was the +boom of bees; the carol of birds, the flutter of balancing butterflies. +Nature was very soothing, she was in one of her sweetest moods. The two +friends were growing drowsy. Miss. Juno, if she at times betrayed a +feminine fondness for argument, was certainly in no haste to provoke +Paul to a further discussion of the quality of love or friendship; +presently she began rather languidly: + +"You were saying I ought to write, and that you believe I can, if I will +only try. I'm going to try; I've been thinking of something that +happened within my knowledge; perhaps I can make a magazine sketch of +it." + +"Oh, please write it, Jack! Write it, and send the manuscript to me, +that I may place it for you; will you? Promise me you will!" The boy was +quite enthusiastic, and his undisguised pleasure in the prospect of +seeing something from the pen of his pal--as he loved to call Miss. +Juno--seemed to awaken a responsive echo in her heart. + +"I will, Paul; I promise you!"--and the two struck hands on it. + + +IV + +When Paul returned to the Eyrie, it had been decided that Miss. Juno was +to at once begin her first contribution to periodic literature. She had +found her plot; she had only to tell her story in her own way, just as +if she were recounting it to Paul. Indeed, at his suggestion, she had +promised to sit with pen in hand and address him as if he were actually +present. In this way he hoped she would drop into the narrative style +natural to her, and so attractive to her listeners. + +As for Paul Clitheroe, he was to make inquiry among his editorial +friends in the Misty City, and see if he might not effect some +satisfactory arrangement with one or another of them, whereby he would +be placed in a position enabling him to go abroad in the course of a few +weeks, and remain abroad indefinitely. He would make Venice his +headquarters; he would have the constant society of his friends; the +fellowship of Jack; together, after the joint literary labors of the +day, they would stem the sluggish tide of the darksome canals and +exchange sentiment and cigarette smoke in mutual delight. Paul was to +write a weekly or a semi-monthly letter to the journal employing him as +a special correspondent. At intervals, in the company of his friends, or +alone, he would set forth upon one of those charming excursions so +fruitful of picturesque experience, and return to his lodgings on the +Schiavoni, to work them up into magazine articles; these would later, of +course, get into book form; from the book would come increased +reputation, a larger source of revenue, and the contentment of success +which he so longed for, so often thought he had found, and so seldom +enjoyed for any length of time. + +All this was to be arranged,--or rather the means to which all this was +the delightful end--was to be settled as soon as possible. Miss. Juno, +having finished her story, was to send word to Paul and he was to hie +him to the Rose Garden; thereafter at an ideal dinner, elaborated in +honor of the occasion, Eugene was to read the maiden effort, while the +author, sustained by the sympathetic presence of her admiring Mama and +her devoted Paul, awaited the verdict. + +This was to be the test--a trying one for Miss Juno. As for Paul, he +felt quite patriarchal, and yet, so genuine and so deep was his interest +in the future of his protégée, that he was already showing symptoms of +anxiety. + +The article having been sent to the editor of the first magazine in the +land, the family would be ready to fold its æsthetic tent and depart; +Paul, of course, accompanying them. + +It was a happy thought; visions of Venice; the moonlit lagoon; the +reflected lamps plunging their tongues of flame into the sea; the humid +air, the almost breathless silence, broken at intervals by the baying of +deep-mouthed bells; the splash of oars; the soft tripping measure of +human voices and the refrain of the gondoliers; Jack by his side--Jack +now in her element, with the maroon fez of the distinguished howadji +tilted upon the back of her handsome head, her shapely finger-nails +stained with henna, her wrists weighed down with their scores of +tinkling bangles! Could anything be jollier? + +Paul gave himself up to the full enjoyment of this dream. Already he +seemed to have overcome every obstacle, and to be reveling in the +subdued but sensuous joys of the Adriatic queen. Sometimes he had fled +in spirit to the sweet seclusion of the cloistral life at San Lazaro. +Byron did it before him;--the plump, the soft-voiced, mild-visaged +little Arminians will tell you all about that, and take immense pleasure +in the telling of it. Paul had also known a fellow-writer who had +emulated Byron, and had even distanced the Byron record in one respect +at least--he had outstayed his lordship at San Lazaro! + +Sometimes Paul turned hermit, in imagination and dwelt alone upon the +long sands of the melancholy Lido; not seeing Jack, or anybody, save the +waiter at the neighboring restaurant, for days and days together. It was +immensely diverting, this dream-life that Paul led in far distant +Venice. It was just the life he loved, the ideal life, and it wasn't +costing him a cent--no, not a _soldo_, to speak more in the Venetian +manner. + +While he was looking forward to the life to come, he had hardly time to +perfect his arrangements for a realization of it. He was to pack +everything and store it in a bonded warehouse, where it should remain +until he had taken root abroad. Then he would send for it and settle in +the spot he loved best of all, and there write and dream and drink the +wine of the country, while the Angelus bells ringing thrice a day awoke +him to a realizing sense of the fairy-like flight of time just as they +have been doing for ages past, and, let us hope, as they will continue +to do forever and forever. + +One day he stopped dreaming of Italy, and resolved to secure his +engagement as a correspondent. Miss. Juno had written him that her +sketch was nearly finished; that he must hold himself in readiness to +answer her summons at a moment's notice. The season was advancing; no +time was to be lost, etc. Paul started at once for the office of his +favorite journal; his interview was not entirely satisfactory. Editors, +one and all, as he called upon them in succession, didn't seem +especially anxious to send the young man abroad for an indefinite +period; the salary requested seemed exorbitant. They each made a +proposition; all said: "This is the best I can do at present; go to the +other offices, and if you receive a better offer we advise you to take +it." This seemed reasonable enough, but as their best rate was fifteen +dollars for one letter a week he feared that even the highly respectable +second-class accommodations of all sorts to which he must confine +himself would be beyond his means. + +Was he losing interest in the scheme which had afforded him so many +hours of sweet, if not solid, satisfaction? No, not exactly. Poverty was +more picturesque abroad than in his prosaic native land. His song was +not quite so joyous, that was all; he would go to Italy; he would take a +smaller room; he would eat at the Trattoria of the people; he would make +studies of the peasant, the _contadini_. Jack had written, "There is pie +in Venice when we are there; Mama knows how to make pie; pie cannot be +purchased elsewhere. Love is the price thereof!" And pie is very +filling. Yes, he would go to Europe on fifteen dollars per week and find +paradise in the bright particular Venetian Pie! + + +V + +After many days a great change came to pass. Everybody knew that Paul +Clitheroe had disappeared without so much as a "good-by" to his most +intimate friends. Curiosity was excited for a little while, but for a +little while only. Soon he was forgotten, or remembered by no one save +those who had known and loved him and who at intervals regretted him. + +And Miss. Juno? Ah, Miss. Juno, the joy of Paul's young dreams! Having +been launched successfully at his hands, and hoping in her brave, +off-hand way to be of service to him, she continued to write as much for +his sake as for her own; she knew it would please him beyond compare +were she to achieve a pronounced literary success. He had urged her to +write a novel. She had lightly laughed him to scorn--and had kept +turning in her mind the possible plot for a tale. One day it suddenly +took shape; the whole thing seemed to her perfectly plain sailing; if +Clitheroe had launched her upon that venturesome sea, she had suddenly +found herself equipped and able to sail without the aid of any one. + +She had written to Paul of her joy in this new discovery. Before her +loomed the misty outlines of fair far islands; she was about to set +forth to people these. Oh, the joy of that! The unspeakable joy of it! +She spread all sail on this voyage of discovery--she asked for nothing +more save the prayers of her old comrade. She longed to have him near +her so that together they might discuss the situations in her story, one +after another. If he were only in Venice they would meet daily over +their dinner, and after dinner she would read to him what she had +written since they last met; then they would go in a gondola for a +moonlight cruise; of course it was always moonlight in Venice! Would +this not be delightful and just as an all-wise Providence meant it +should be? Paul had read something like this in the letters which she +used to write him when he was divided against himself; when he began to +feel himself sinking, without a hand to help him. Venice was out of the +question then; it were vain for him to even dream of it. + +So time went on; Miss. Juno became a slave of the lamp; her work grew +marvelously under her pen. Her little people led her a merry chase; they +whispered in her ears night and day; she got no rest of them--but rose +again and again to put down the clever things they said, and so, almost +before she knew it, her novel had grown into three fine English volumes +with inch-broad margins, half-inch spacings, large type and heavy paper. +She was amazed to find how important her work had become. + +Fortune favored her. She found a publisher who was ready to bring out +her book at once; two sets of proofs were forwarded to her; these she +corrected with deep delight, returning one to her London publisher and +sending one to America, where another publisher was ready to issue the +work simultaneously with the English print. + +It made its appearance under a pen-name in England--anonymously in +America. What curiosity it awakened may be judged by the instantaneous +success of the work in both countries: Tauchnitz at once added it to his +fascinating list; the French and German translators negotiated for the +right to run it as a serial in Paris and Berlin journals. Considerable +curiosity was awakened concerning the identity of the authorship, and +the personal paragraphers made a thousand conjectures, all of which +helped the sale of the novel immensely and amused Miss. Juno and her +confidants beyond expression. + +All this was known to Clitheroe before he had reached the climax that +forced him to the wall. He had written to Miss. Juno; and he had called +her "Jack" as of old, but he felt and she realized that he felt that the +conditions were changed. The atmosphere of the rose-garden was gone +forever; the hopes and aspirations that were so easy and so airy then, +had folded their wings like bruised butterflies or faded like the +flowers. She resolved to wait until he had recovered his senses and then +perhaps he would come to Venice and to them--which in her estimation +amounted to one and the same thing. + +She wrote to him no more; he had not written her for weeks, save only +the few lines of congratulation on the success of her novel, and to +thank her for the author's copy she had sent him: the three-volume +London edition with a fond inscription on the flyleaf--a line in each +volume. This was the end of all that. + +Once more she wrote, but not to Clitheroe; she wrote to a friend she had +known when she was in the far West, one who knew Paul well and was +always eager for news of him. + +The letter, or a part of it, ran as follows: + +"Of course such weather as this is not to be shut out-of-doors; we feed +on it; we drink it in; we bathe in it, body and soul. Ah, my friend, +know a June in Venice before you die! Don't dare to die until you have +become saturated with the aerial-aquatic beauty of this Divine Sea-City! + +"Oh, I was about to tell you something when the charms of this Syren +made me half-delirious and of course I forgot all else in life--I always +do so. Well, as we leave in a few days for the delectable Dolonites, we +are making our rounds of P. P. C.'s,--that we are revisiting every nook +and corner in the lagoon so dear to us. We invariably do this; it is the +most delicious leave-taking imaginable. If I were only Niobe I'd water +these shores with tears--I'm sure I would; but you know I never weep; I +never did; I don't know how; there is not a drop of brine in my whole +composition. + +"Dear me! how I do rattle on--but you know my moods and will make due +allowance for what might strike the cold, unfeeling world as being +garrulity. + +"We had resolved to visit that most enchanting of all Italian shrines, +San Francisco del Deserto. We had not been there for an age; you know it +is rather a long pull over, and one waits for the most perfect hour when +one ventures upon the outskirts of the lagoon. + +"Oh, the unspeakable loveliness of that perfect day! The mellowing haze +that veiled the water; the heavenly blue of the sea, a mirror of the +sky, and floating in between the two, so that one could not be quite +sure whether it slumbered in the lap of the sea or hung upon the bosom +of the sky, that ideal summer island--San Francisco del Deserto. + +"You know it is only a few acres in extent--not more than six, I fancy, +and four-fifths of it are walled about with walls that stand knee-deep +in sea-grasses. Along, and above it, are thrust the tapering tops of +those highly decorative cypresses without which Italy would not be +herself at all. There is such a monastery there--an ideal one, with +cloister, and sundial, and marble-curbed well, and all that; at least +so I am told; we poor feminine creatures are not permitted to cross the +thresholds of these Holy Houses. This reminds me of a remark I heard +made by a very clever woman who wished to have a glimpse of the interior +of that impossible Monte Casino on the mountain top between Rome and +Naples. Of course she was refused admission; she turned upon the poor +Benedictine, who was only obeying orders--it is a rule of the house, you +know--and said, 'Why do you refuse me admission to this shrine? Is it +because I am of the same sex as the mother of your God?' But she didn't +get in for all that. Neither have I crossed the threshold of San +Francisco del Deserto, but I have wandered upon the green in front of +the little chapel; and sat under the trees in contemplation of the sea +and wished--yes, really and truly wished--that I were a barefooted +Franciscan friar with nothing to do but look picturesque in such a +terrestrial paradise. + +"What do you think happened when we were there the other day? Now at +last I am coming to it. We were all upon the Campo in front of the +chapel--Violet, Eugene and I; the Angelus had just rung; it was the hour +of all hours in one's lifetime; the deepening twilight--we had the moon +to light us on our homeward way--the inexpressible loveliness of the +atmosphere, the unutterable peace, the unspeakable serenity--the repose +in nature--I cannot begin to express myself! + +"Out of the chapel came the Father Superior. He knows us very well, for +we have often visited the island; he always offers us some refreshment, +a cup of mass wine, or a dish of fruit, and so he did on this occasion. +We were in no hurry to leave the shore and so accepted his invitation to +be seated under the trees while he ordered the repast. + +"Presently he returned and was shortly followed by a young friar whom we +had never seen before; there are not many of them there--a dozen +perhaps--and their faces are more or less familiar to us, for even we +poor women may kneel without the gratings in their little chapel, and so +we have learned to know the faces we have seen there in the choir. But +this one was quite new to us and so striking; his eyes were ever raised; +he offered us a dish of bread and olives, while the abbot poured our +wine, and the very moment we had served ourselves he quietly withdrew. + +"I could think of but one thing--indeed we all thought of it at the same +moment--'tis Browning's-- + + "'What's become of Waring + Since he gave us all the slip?'" + +"You know the lines well enough. Why did we think of it?--because we +were all startled, so startled that the abbot who usually sees us to our +gondola, made his abrupt adieus, on some slight pretext, and the door of +the monastery was bolted fast. + +"Oh, me! How long it takes to tell a little tale--to be sure! We knew +that face, the face of the young friar; we knew the hand--it was +unmistakable; we have all agreed upon it and are ready to swear to it on +our oaths! That novice was none other than Paul Clitheroe!" + + + + +A LITTLE SAVAGE GENTLEMAN + +BY + +ISOBEL STRONG + +Reprinted from _Scribner's Magazine_ by permission + + +"IF YOU want a child as badly as all that," my brother said, "why not +adopt a chief's son, some one who is handsome and well-born, and will be +a credit to you, instead of crying your eyes out over a little common +brat who is an ungrateful cub, and ugly into the bargain?" + +I wasn't particularly fond of the "common brat," but I had grown used to +tending him, bandaging his miserable little foot and trying to make his +lot easier to bear; and he had been spirited away. One may live long in +Samoa without understanding the whys and wherefores. His mother may have +been jealous of my care of the child and carried him away in the night; +or the clan to which he belonged may have sent for him, though his +reputed father was our assistant cook. At any rate, he had +gone--departed as completely and entirely as though he had vanished into +thin air, and I, sitting on the steps of the veranda, gave way to tears. + +Two days later, as I hastened across the courtyard, I turned the corner +suddenly, nearly falling over a small Samoan boy, who stood erect in a +gallant pose before the house, leaning upon a long stick of sugar-cane, +as though it were a spear. + +"Who are you?" I asked, in the native language. + +"I am your son," was the surprising reply. + +"And what is your name?" + +"Pola," he said. "Pola, of Tanugamanono, and my mother is the white +chief lady, Teuila of Vailima." + +He was a beautiful creature, of an even tint of light bronze-brown; his +slender body reflected the polish of scented cocoanut oil, the tiny +garment he called his _lava-lava_ fastened at the waist was coquettishly +kilted above one knee. He wore a necklace of scarlet berries across his +shoulders, and a bright red hibiscus flower stuck behind his ear. On his +round, smooth cheek a single rose-leaf hid the dimple. His large black +eyes looked up at me with an expression of terror, overcome by pure +physical courage. From the top of his curly head to the soles of his +high-arched slender foot he looked _tama'alii_--high-bred. To all my +inquiries he answered in purest high-chief Samoan that he was my son. + +My brother came to the rescue with explanations. Taking pity on me, he +had gone to our village (as we called Tanugamanono) and adopted the +chief's second son in my name, and here he was come to present himself +in person. + +I shook hands with him, a ceremony he performed very gracefully with +great dignity. Then he offered me the six feet of sugar-cane, with the +remark that it was a small, trifling gift, unworthy of my high-chief +notice. I accepted it with a show of great joy and appreciation, though +by a turn of the head one could see acres of sugar-cane growing on the +other side of the river. + +There was an element of embarrassment in the possession of this +charming creature. I could not speak the Samoan language very well at +that time, and saw, by his vague but polite smile, that much of my +conversation was incomprehensible to him. His language to me was so +extremely "high-chief" that I couldn't understand more than three words +in a sentence. What made the situation still more poignant was that look +of repressed fear glinting in the depths of his black velvety eyes. + +I took him by the hand (that trembled slightly in mine, though he walked +boldly along with me) and led him about the house, thinking the sight of +all the wonders of Vailima might divert his mind. When I threw open the +door of the hall, with its pictures and statues, waxed floor and glitter +of silver on the sideboard, Pola made the regulation quotation from +Scripture, "And behold the half has not been told me." + +He went quite close to the tiger-skin, with the glass eyes and big +teeth. "It is not living?" he asked, and when I assured him it was dead +he remarked that it was a large pussy, and then added, gravely, that he +supposed the forests of London were filled with these animals. + +He held my hand quite tightly going up the stairs, and I realized then +that he could never have mounted a staircase before. Indeed, everything +in the house, even chairs and tables, books and pictures, were new and +strange to this little savage gentleman. + +I took him to my room, where I had a number of letters to write. He sat +on the floor at my feet very obediently while I went on with my work. +Looking down a few minutes later I saw that he had fallen asleep, lying +on a while rug in a childish, graceful attitude, and I realized again +his wild beauty and charm. + +Late in the day, as it began to grow dark, I asked Pola if he did not +want to go home. + +"No, Teuila," he answered, bravely. + +"But you will be my boy just the same," I explained. "Only you see Tumau +(his real mother) will be lonely at first. So you can sleep at the +village and come and see me during the day." + +His eyes lit up with that and the first smile of the day overspread his +face, showing the whitest teeth imaginable. + +It was not long before he was perfectly at home in Vailima. He would +arrive in the morning early, attended by a serving-man of his family, +who walked meekly in the young chief's footsteps, carrying the usual +gift for me. Sometimes it was sugar-cane, or a wreath woven by the +village girls, or a single fish wrapped in a piece of banana-leaf, or a +few fresh water prawns, or even a bunch of wayside flowers; my little +son seldom came empty-handed. + +It was Pola who really taught me the Samoan language. Ordinarily the +natives cannot simplify their remarks for foreigners, but Pola invented +a sort of Samoan baby-talk for me; sometimes, if I could not understand, +he would shake me with his fierce little brown hands, crying, "Stupid, +stupid!" But generally he was extremely patient with me, trying a +sentence in half a dozen different ways, with his bright eyes fixed +eagerly on my face, and when the sense of what he said dawned upon me +and I repeated it to prove that I understood, his own countenance would +light up with an expression of absolute pride and triumph. "Good!" he +would say, approvingly. "Great is your high-chief wisdom!" + +Once we spent a happy afternoon together in the forest picking up queer +land-shells, bright berries and curious flowers, while Pola dug up a +number of plants by the roots. I asked him the next day what he had done +with the beautiful red flowers. His reply was beyond me, so I shook my +head. He looked at me anxiously for a moment with that worried +expression that so often crossed his face in conversation with me, and, +patting the floor, scraped up an imaginary hole, "They sit down in the +dusty," he said in baby Samoan. "Where?" I asked. "In front of Tumau." +And then I understood that he had planted them in the ground before his +mother's house. + +Another time he came up all laughter and excitement to tell of an +adventure. + +"Your brother," he said, "the high-chief Loia, he of the four eyes +(eye-glasses), came riding by the village as I was walking up to +Vailima. He offered me a ride on his chief-horse and gave me his +chief-hand. I put my foot on the stirrup, and just as I jumped the horse +shied, and, as I had hold of the high-chief Loia, we both fell off into +the road _palasi_." + +"Yes," I said, "you both fell off. That was very funny." + +"_Palasi_!" he reiterated. + +But here I looked doubtful. Pola repeated his word several times as +though the very sound ought to convey some idea to my bemuddled brain, +and then a bright idea struck him. I heard his bare feet pattering +swiftly down the stairs. He came flying back, still laughing, and laid a +heavy dictionary in my lap. I hastily turned the leaves, Pola questing +in each one like an excited little dog, till I found the definition of +his word, "to fall squash like a ripe fruit on the ground." + +"_Palasi_!" he cried, triumphantly, when he saw I understood, making a +gesture downward with both hands, the while laughing heartily. "We both +fell off _palasi_!" + +It was through Pola that I learned all the news of Tanugamanono. He +would curl up on the floor at my feet as I sat in my room sewing, and +pour forth an endless stream of village gossip. How Mata, the native +parson, had whipped his daughter for going to a picnic on Sunday and +drinking a glass of beer. + +"Her father went whack! whack!" Pola illustrated the scene with gusto, +"and Maua cried, ah! ah! But the village says Mata is right, for we must +not let the white man's evil come near us." + +"Evil?" I said; "what evil?" + +"Drink," said Pola, solemnly. + +Then he told how "the ladies of Tanugamanono" bought a pig of Mr. B., a +trader, each contributing a dollar until forty dollars were collected. +There was to be a grand feast among the ladies on account of the +choosing of a maid or _taupo_, the young girl who represents the village +on all state occasions. When the pig came it turned out to be an old +boar, so tough and rank it could not be eaten. The ladies were much +ashamed before their guests, and asked the white man for another pig, +but he only laughed at them. He had their money, so he did not care, +"That was very, very bad of him," I exclaimed, indignantly. + +"It is the way of white people," said Pola, philosophically. + +It was through my little chief that we learned of a bit of fine +hospitality. It seems that pigs were scarce in the village, so each +house-chief pledged himself to refrain from killing one of them for six +months. Any one breaking this rule agreed to give over his house to be +looted by the village. + +Pola came up rather late one morning, and told me, hilariously, of the +fun they had had looting Tupuola's house. + +"But Tupuola is a friend of ours," I said. "I don't like to hear of all +his belongings being scattered." + +"It is all right," Pola explained. "Tupuola said to the village, 'Come +and loot. I have broken the law and I will pay the forfeit.'" + +"How did he break the law?" I asked. + +"When the high-chief Loia, your brother of the four eyes, stopped the +night at Tanugamanono, on his way to the shark fishing, he stayed with +Tupuola, so of course it was chiefly to kill a pig in his honor." + +"But it was against the law. My brother would not have liked it, and +Tupuola must have felt badly to know his house was to be looted." + +"He would have felt worse," said Pola, "to have acted unchiefly to a +friend." + +We never would have known of the famine in Tanugamanono if it had not +been for Pola. The hurricane had blown off all the young nuts from the +cocoanut palms and the fruit from the breadfruit trees, while the taro +was not yet ripe. We passed the village daily. The chief was my +brother's dear friend; the girls often came up to decorate the place for +a dinner party, but we had no hint of any distress in the village. + +One morning I gave Pola two large ship's biscuits from the pantry. + +"Be not angry," said Pola, "but I prefer to carry these home." + +"Eat them," I said, "and I will give you more." + +Before leaving that night he came to remind me of this. I was swinging +in a hammock reading a novel when Pola came to kiss my hand and bid me +good night. + +"_Love_," I said, "_Talofa_." + +"_Soifua_," Pola replied, "may you sleep;" and then he added, "Be not +angry, but the biscuits----" + +"Are you hungry?" I asked. "Didn't you have your dinner?" + +"Oh, yes, plenty of pea-soupo" (a general name for anything in tins); +"but you said, in your high-chief kindness, that if I ate the two +biscuits you would give me more to take home." + +"And you ate them?" + +He hesitated a perceptible moment, and then said: + +"Yes, I ate them." + +He looked so glowing and sweet, leaning forward to beg a favor, that I +suddenly pulled him to me by his bare, brown shoulders for a kiss. He +fell against the hammock and two large round ship's biscuits slipped +from under his _lava-lava_. + +"Oh, Pola!" I cried, reproachfully. It cut me to the heart that he +should lie to me. + +He picked them up in silence, repressing the tears that stood in his big +black eyes, and turned to go. I felt there was something strange in +this, one of those mysterious Samoan affairs that had so often baffled +me. + +"I will give you two more biscuits," I said, quietly, "if you will +explain why you told a wicked lie and pained the heart that loved you." + +"Teuila," he cried, anxiously, "I love you. I would not pain your heart +for all the world. But they are starving in the village. My father, the +chief, divides the food, so that each child and old person and all shall +share alike, and today there was only green baked bananas, two for each, +and tonight when I return there will be again a division of one for each +member of the village. It seems hard that I should come here and eat and +eat, and my brother and my two little sisters, and the good Tumau also, +should have only one banana. So I thought I would say to you, 'Behold, I +have eaten the two biscuits,' and then you would give me two more and +that would be enough for one each to my two sisters and Tumau and my +brother, who is older than I." + +That night my brother went down to the village and interviewed the +chief. It was all true, as Pola had said, only they had been too proud +to mention it. Mr. Stevenson sent bags of rice and kegs of beef to the +village, and gave them permission to dig for edible roots in our forest, +so they were able to tide over until the taro and yams were ripe. + +Pola always spoke of Vailima as "our place," and Mr. Stevenson as "my +chief." I had given him a little brown pony that exactly matched his own +skin. A missionary, meeting him in the forest road as he was galloping +along like a young centaur, asked, "Who are you?" + +"I," answered Pola, reining in his pony with a gallant air, "am one of +the Vailima men!" + +He proved, however, that he considered himself a true Samoan by a +conversation we had together once when we were walking down to Apia. We +passed a new house where a number of half-caste carpenters were briskly +at work. + +"See how clever these men are, Pola," I said, "building the white man's +house. When you get older perhaps I will have you taught carpentering, +that you may build houses and make money." + +"Me?" asked Pola, surprised. + +"Yes," I replied. "Don't you think that would be a good idea?" + +"I am the son of a chief," said Pola. + +"I know," I said, "that your highness is a very great personage, but all +the same it is good to know how to make money. Wouldn't you like to be a +carpenter?" + +"No," said Pola, scornfully, adding, with a wave of his arm that took in +acres of breadfruit trees, banana groves, and taro patches, "Why should +I work? All this land belongs to me." + +Once, when Pola had been particularly adorable, I told him, in a burst +of affection, that he could have anything in the world he wanted, only +begging him to name it. + +He smiled, looked thoughtful for an instant, and then answered, that of +all things in the world, he would like ear-rings, like those the sailors +wear. + +I bought him a pair the next time I went to town. Then, armed with a +cork and a needleful of white silk, I called Pola, and asked if he +wanted the ear-rings badly enough to endure the necessary operation. + +He smiled and walked up to me. + +"Now, this is going to hurt, Pola," I said. + +He stood perfectly straight when I pushed the needle through his ear and +cut off a little piece of silk. I looked anxiously in his face as he +turned his head for me to pierce the other one. I was so nervous that my +hands trembled. + +"Are you _sure_ it does not hurt, Pola, my pigeon?" I asked, and I have +never forgotten his answer. + +"My father is a soldier," he said. + +Pola's dress was a simple garment, a square of white muslin hemmed by +his adopted mother. Like all Samoans, he was naturally very clean, going +with the rest of the "Vailima men" to swim in the waterfall twice a day. +He would wash his hair in the juice of wild oranges, clean his teeth +with the inside husk of the cocoanut, and, putting on a fresh +_lava-lava_, would wash out the discarded one in the river, laying it +out in the sunshine to dry. He was always decorated with flowers in some +way--a necklace of jessamine buds, pointed red peppers, or the scarlet +fruit of the pandanas. Little white boys looked naked without their +clothes, but Pola in a strip of muslin, with his wreath of flowers, or +sea-shells, some ferns twisted about one ankle, perhaps, or a boar's +tusk fastened to his left arm with strands of horse-hair, looked +completely, even handsomely, dressed. + +He was not too proud to lend a helping hand at any work going--setting +the table, polishing the floor of the hall or the brass handles of the +old cabinet, leading the horses to water, carrying pails for the +milkmen, helping the cook in the kitchen, the butler in the pantry, or +the cowboy in the fields; holding skeins of wool for Mr. Stevenson's +mother, or trotting beside the lady of the house, "Tamaitai," as they +all called her, carrying seeds or plants for her garden. When my brother +went out with a number of natives laden with surveying implements, Pola +only stopped long enough to beg for a cane-knife before he was leading +the party. If Mr. Stevenson called for his horse and started to town it +was always Pola who flew to open the gate for him, waving a "_Talofa_!" +and "Good luck to the traveling!" + +The Samoans are not reserved, like the Indians, or haughty, like the +Arabs. They are a cheerful, lively people, who keenly enjoy a joke, +laughing at the slightest provocation. Pola bubbled over with fun, and +his voice could be heard chattering and singing gaily at any hour of the +day. He made up little verses about me, which he sang to the graceful +gestures of the Siva or native dance, showing unaffected delight when +commended. He cried out with joy and admiration when he first heard a +hand-organ, and was excitedly happy when allowed to turn the handle. I +gave him a box of tin soldiers, which he played with for hours in my +room. He would arrange them on the floor, talking earnestly to himself +in Samoan. + +"These are brave brown men," he would mutter. "They are fighting for +Mata'afa. Boom! Boom! These are white men. They are fighting the +Samoans. Pouf!" And with a wave of his arm he knocked down a whole +battalion, with the scornful remark, "All white men are cowards." + +After Mr. Stevenson's death so many of his Samoan friends begged for his +photograph that we sent to Sydney for a supply, which was soon +exhausted. One afternoon Pola came in and remarked, in a very hurt and +aggrieved manner, that he had been neglected in the way of photographs. + +"But your father, the chief, has a large fine one." + +"True," said Pola. "But that is not mine. I have the box presented to me +by your high-chief goodness. It has a little cover, and there I wish to +put the sun-shadow of Tusitala, the beloved chief whom we all revere, +but I more than the others because he was the head of my clan." + +"To be sure," I said, and looked about for a photograph. I found a +picture cut from a weekly paper, one I remember that Mr. Stevenson +himself had particularly disliked. He would have been pleased had he +seen the scornful way Pola threw the picture on the floor. + +"I will not have that!" he cried. "It is pig-faced. It is not the shadow +of our chief." He leaned against the door and wept. + +"I have nothing else, Pola," I protested. "Truly, if I had another +picture of Tusitala I would give it to you." + +He brightened up at once. "There is the one in the smoking-room," he +said, "where he walks back and forth. That pleases me, for it looks like +him." He referred to an oil painting of Mr. Stevenson by Sargent. I +explained that I could not give him that. "Then I will take the round +one," he said, "of tin." This last was the bronze _bas-relief_ by St. +Gaudens. I must have laughed involuntarily, for he went out deeply hurt. +Hearing a strange noise in the hall an hour or so later, I opened the +door, and discovered Pola lying on his face, weeping bitterly. + +"What _are_ you crying about?" I asked. + +"The shadow, the shadow," he sobbed. "I want the sun-shadow of +Tusitala." + +I knocked at my mother's door across the hall, and at the sight of that +tear-stained face her heart melted, and he was given the last photograph +we had, which he wrapped in a banana-leaf, tying it carefully with a +ribbon of grass. + +We left Samoa after Mr. Stevenson's death, staying away for more than a +year. Pola wrote me letters by every mail in a large round hand, but +they were too conventional to bear any impress of his mind. He referred +to our regretted separation, exhorting me to stand fast in the +high-chief will of the Lord, and, with his love to each member of the +family, mentioned by name and title, he prayed that I might live long, +sleep well, and not forget Pola, my unworthy servant. + +When we returned to Samoa we were up at dawn, on shipboard, watching the +horizon for the first faint cloud that floats above the island of Upulu. +Already the familiar perfume came floating over the waters--that sweet +blending of many odors, of cocoanut-oil and baking breadfruit, of +jessamine and gardenia. It smelt of home to us, leaning over the rail +and watching. First a cloud, then a shadow growing more and more +distinct until we saw the outline of the island. Then, as we drew +nearer, the deep purple of the distant hills, the green of the rich +forests, and the silvery ribbons where the waterfalls reflect the +sunshine. + +Among the fleet of boats skimming out to meet us was one far ahead of +the others, a lone canoe propelled by a woman, with a single figure +standing in the prow. As the steamer drew near I made out the figure of +Pola, dressed in wreaths and flowers in honor of my return. As the +anchor went down in the bay of Apia and the custom-house officer started +to board, I called out, begging him to let the child come on first. He +drew aside. The canoe shot up to the gangway, and Pola, all in his +finery of fresh flowers, ran up the gangway and stepped forth on the +deck. The passengers drew back before the strange little figure, but he +was too intent upon finding me to notice them. + +"Teuila!" he cried, joyfully, with the tears rolling down his cheeks. I +went forward to meet him, and, kneeling on the deck, caught him in my +arms. + + + + +LOVE AND ADVERTISING + +BY + +RICHARD WALTON TULLY + +Reprinted from _The Cosmopolitan Magazine_ of April, 1906 by permission + + +I DO NOT demand," said Mr. Pepper, "I simply suggest a change. If you +wish me to resign"--his self-deprecatory manner bespoke an impossible +supposition--"very well. But, if you see fit to find me a new +assistant----" He paused, with an interrogatory cough. + +It was the senior partner who answered, "We shall consider the matter." + +The advertising manager's lean face took on an expression of +satisfaction. He bowed and disappeared through the door. + +Young Kaufmann, the junior partner, smiled covertly. But the elder man's +face bespoke keen disappointment. For it must be explained that Mr. +Pepper's simple announcement bore vitally upon the only dissension that +had ever visited the firm of Kaufmann & Houghton during the thirty years +of its existence. + +In 1875, when John Houghton, fresh from college, had come to New York to +find his fortune, the elder Kaufmann had been a candy manufacturer with +a modest trade on the East Side. Young Houghton had taken the agency of +a glucose firm. The disposal of this product had brought the two +together, with the result that a partnership had been formed to carry +on a wholesale confectionery business. Success in this venture had led +to new and more profitable fields--the chewing-gum trade. + +The rise to wealth of these two was the result of the careful plodding +of the German workman, who kept the "K. & H." products up to an +unvarying standard, joined with the other's energy and acumen in +marketing the output. And this mutual relation had been disturbed by but +one difference. When Houghton was disposed to consider a college man for +a vacancy, Kaufmann had always been ready with his "practical man dot +has vorked hiss vay." And each time, in respect to his wishes, Houghton +had given in, reflecting that perhaps (as Kaufmann said) it had been +that he, himself, was a good business man in spite of his college +training, not because of it; and, after all, college ideals had sunk +since _his_ time. And the college applicant had been sent away. + +Young Johann Kaufmann graduated from grammar school. Houghton suggested +high school and college. + +"Vat? Nein!" said the elder Kaufmann. "I show him how better the gum to +make." + +And he did. He put on an apron as of yore and started his son under his +personal supervision in the washing-room. He took off his apron when +Johann knew all about handling chicle products, from importing-bag to +tin-foil wrapper. Then he died. + +And this year troublesome conditions had come on. The Consolidated +Pepsin people were cutting in severely. Orders for the great specialty +of K. & H.--"Old Tulu"--had fallen. Something had to be done. + +Houghton, now senior partner, had proposed, and young Kaufmann agreed, +that an advertising expert be secured. But the agreement ended there. +For the first words of the junior partner showed Houghton that the +spirit of the father was still sitting at that desk opposite, and +smiling the same fat, phlegmatic smile at his supposed weakness for +"dose college bitzness." + +They had compromised upon Mr. Pepper, secured from Simpkins' Practical +Advertising School. But at the end of six months, Pepper's so-called +"follow-up campaign" had failed to meet materially the steady inroads of +the western men. He had explained that it was the result of his need of +an assistant. It was determined to give him one. + +Then, one night as he sat in his library, John Houghton had looked into +a pair of blue eyes and promised to "give Tom Brainard the chance." In +consequence he had had his hair tousled, been given a resounding kiss +and a crushing hug from the young lady on his knees. For Dorothy +Houghton, despite her nineteen years, still claimed that privilege from +her father. + +In that way, for the first time, a college man had come into the employ +of K. & H., and been made the assistant of Mr. Pepper at the salary he +demanded--"any old thing to start the ball rolling." + +And now had come the information that the senior partner's long-desired +experiment had ended in failure. + +Young Kaufmann turned to his work with the air of one who has given a +child its own way and seen it come to grief. + +"I--I suppose," Houghton said slowly, "we'll have to let Brainard go." + +And then a peculiar thing happened. Through the open window, floating in +the summer air, he seemed to see a familiar figure. It was dressed in +fluffy white, and carried a parasol over its shoulders. It fluttered +calmly in, seated itself on the sill, and gazed at him with blue eyes +that were serious, reproachful. + +"Daddy!" it said, and it brushed away a wisp of hair by its ear--just as +another one, long ago, had used to. "Daddy!" it faltered. "Why did I ask +you to give him the place, if it wasn't because--because----" + +The spell was broken by Kaufmann's voice. "Whatefer you do, I am +sooted," he was saying. It might have been his father. "But if w'at +Pepper says about Brainard----" + +The senior partner straightened up and pushed a button. "Yes. But We +haven't heard what Brainard says about Pepper." + +Several moments later Tom Brainard entered. Medium-sized and muscular, +he was dressed in a loose-fitting suit that by its very cut told his +training. He stood between them as Mr. Pepper had done, but there was +nothing of the other's ingratiating deference in his level look. + +"Sit down, Brainard," said Houghton. The newcomer did so, and the senior +partner marked an attitude of laziness and indifference. + +Houghton became stern. "Brainard," he began, "I gave you a chance with +us because----" He paused. + +The other colored. "I had hoped to make good without that." + +"But this morning Mr. Pepper----" + +"Said we couldn't get along together. That's true." + +"Ah! You admit!" It was Kaufmann. + +"Yes." + +There was a pause. Then Houghton spoke. "I can't tell you how much this +disappoints me, Brainard. The fact is, for years I have tried to shut my +eyes to the development of college training. In my time there was not +the call for practicality that there is today. Yet it seems to me that +the training in our colleges has grown less and less practical. Why do +the colleges turn out men who spend their time in personal gossip over +sport or trivialities?" + +"You remember that the King of Spain--or was it Cambodia--puzzled his +wise men for a year as to why a fish, when dropped into a full pail of +water, didn't make it overflow." + +"What's that got to do with it?" + +"Because I must answer as the king did: It's not so--the pail _does_ +overflow. They hadn't thought to try it." + +"You mean that I am wrong." + +"Yes. Are you sure your gossips were 'college men'?" + +"Ah!" Houghton made a gesture to his partner, who was about to speak. +"Then let us commence at the root of the matter. Mr. Kaufmann and I have +often discussed the subject. In this case you are the one who has 'tried +it.' Suppose you explain our mistake." + +"I'd be glad to do that," said Brainard, "because I've heard a lot of +that talk." + +"Well?" + +"Well--of course when I say 'college man' I mean college graduate." + +"Why?" + +"If a kitten crawls into an oven, is it a biscuit?" + +There was an earnestness that robbed the question of any flippancy. + +Houghton laughed. "No!" + +"If a dub goes into college and gets flunked out in a month, is he a +college man?" + +"Hardly." + +"Oh, but he calls himself one. He goes to Podunk all decorated up in +geraniums and the rest of his life is a 'college man.' I'm not talking +about him or the man who comes to college to learn to mix +cocktails--inside. He may last to the junior year. I'm talking about the +graduate--they're only about a tenth of the college. But they're the +finished product. Mr. Kaufmann, you wouldn't try to sell gum that had +only gone as far as the rolling-room, would you?" + +"W'at--me?" + +"Would you?" + +"No." The junior partner was puzzled. + +"That's because you want it to go through all the processes. Well, let's +talk only about the boy who has gone all the way through the man +factory." + +Houghton nodded. "That's fair." + +"The trouble is, people don't do that. They persist in butting into the +college world, jerking out some sophomore celebration, and saying, 'What +use is this silly thing in the real world?'" + +"Well, aren't they right?" + +"No. That's just the point. The college world is a mimic world--and your +lifetime is just four years. The sophomore celebration is a practical +thing there; perhaps it's teaching loyalty--that generally comes first. +That's your college rolling-room. But the graduate--he's learned to do +_something_ well. I never knew a college man who wasn't at least +responsible." + +"But----" + +"But here's the trouble: after selecting say two hundred fellows out of +an entering bunch of six hundred, and developing the thing each is best +fitted for, _father_ steps in and the boy who would have made a +first-class professor is put into business and blamed for being +impractical. The fellow who has been handling thousands of dollars in +college management and running twenty assistants--the man who could have +taken the place--has no father to give him the boost necessary, and the +other man's failure has queered his chances. He has to go to work as a +mere clerk under a man--excuse me, I don't want to do any knocking." + +"You think the whole trouble is caused by misdirected nepotism." + +"Yes." + +"Ah----" It was young Kaufmann again. "But you said that you were +trained in advertising on your college paper." + +"Yes--and I was going to tell you today, if Mr. Pepper hadn't, that the +money you're paying for me is utterly wasted." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes. I can't look in the face of a hungry designer and beat him down to +within a dollar of the cost of materials. And--and--my suggestions upon +broader lines don't seem to cause much hooray." + +"Well--" the junior partner sat up--"since you admit----" He paused for +his partner to speak the words of discharge. + +But Houghton was looking quizzically at the college man. "What was your +idea as to broader lines?" + +Brainard hesitated. "Well, it seemed to me that Pepper is trying to do +two things that are antagonistic: be _'élite'_ and sell chewing-gum. The +fact is that _élite_ people don't chew gum. I'd like to know how the +statement, 'Old Tulu--Best by Test,' will make a kid on the corner with +a cent in his fist have an attack of mouth-watering." + +Kaufmann roused himself. "It is true. Our gum _is_ the best." + +"I'm not disputing that, but still it's _gum_. If you're trying to +increase the vulgar habit of gum-chewing--well--you can't do it by +advertising the firm's financial standing, its age, or the purity of its +output. That would do for an insurance company or a bank--but _gum_! Who +cares for purity! All they want to know is if it _schmeckt gut_." This +last with a humorous glance at Kaufmann. + +The latter was scowling. Brainard was touching a tender spot. + +"Well, what would you do?" + +Brainard flushed. He felt the tone of sarcasm in the elder man's voice. +He tightened his lips. "At least, I'd change the name of the gum!" + +"Change the name!" Kaufmann was horrified. + +"Well, nobody wants 'Old Tulu.' They want 'New Tulu' or 'Fresh Tasty +Tulu.' At least, something to appeal to the imagination of +Sadie-at-the-ribbon-counter." + +"Oh!" observed Houghton. "And the name you suggest?" + +"Well,--say something like 'Lulu Tulu.'" + +"Gott!" Kaufmann struck the desk a blow with his fist. It was an insult +to his father's memory. + +Brainard rose. "I'm sorry," he said, "if I have offended. To save you +any further bother, I'll just cut it out after Saturday. I--thank you +for the chance"--he smiled a little ruefully--"the chance you have given +me. Good day, gentlemen." + +He turned on his heel and left the office. + + * * * * * + +As John Houghton was driven home that night, he became suddenly +conscious that he would soon meet the apparition of the afternoon in the +flesh. And though, of course, there was no need, he found himself +rehearsing the justification of his position. "Lulu Tulu" indeed! +Imagine the smile that would have illumined the faces at the club on +such an announcement. The impudence of the boy to have suggested it to +him--him who had so often held forth upon the value of conservatism in +business! And he remembered with pride the speaker who had once said, +"It is such solid vertebrae as Mr. Houghton that form the backbone of +our business world." That speaker had been Bender, of the New York +Dynamo Company. Poor Bender! The Western Electric Construction had got +him after all. + +This line of thought caused Houghton to reach in his pocket and produce +a letter. He went over the significant part again. + +"Our Mr. Byrnes reports the clinching of the subway vending-machine +contract," it read, "and this, together with our other business, will +give us over half of the New York trade. With this statement before us, +we feel that we can make a winning fight if you still refuse to consider +our terms. In view of recent developments, we cannot repeat our former +offer but if you will consider sixty-seven as a figure----" + +Sixty-seven! And a year before he would not have taken one hundred and +ten! In the bitterness of the moment, he wondered if he, too, would +finally go the way that Bender had. + +And then, as the butler swung the door back, he was recalled to the +matter of Tom Brainard by the sight of a familiar figure that floated +toward him as airily as had its astral self that afternoon. + +He kissed her and went to his study. Just before dinner was not a time +to discuss such things. But later, as he looked across the candelabra at +his daughter, all smiles and happiness in that seat that had been her +mother's, he regretted that he had not, for---- + +"Daddy," Dorothy was saying, "I got such a funny note from Tom this +afternoon. He says there has been a change at the office and that you +will explain." + +"Yes." + +"Well----?" She paused eagerly. "It's something awfully good--I know." + +Her father frowned and caught her eye. "Later," he said significantly. + +The girl read the tone, and the gaiety of the moment before was gone. +After that they ate in silence. + +One cigar--two cigars had been smoked when she stole into the library. +Since coffee (whether from design or chance he never knew), she had +rearranged her hair. Now it was low on her neck in a fashion of long +ago, with a single curl that strayed over a white shoulder to her bosom. +She knelt at his side without a word. + +He looked down at her. Somehow he had never seen her like this +before--that curious womanly expression. + +"Tell me," was all she said. + +And, as he told Tom Brainard's failure to fit in, he watched her +closely. "I'm sorry," he concluded. + +"So am I, daddy," she returned steadily; "because I am going to marry +him." + +"What?" + +"Oh, you knew--you must have," she said, "when I asked you to give him +the chance." + +The father was silent. In fancy he again heard Dolly Warner promising, +against her parents' advice, to wait for her John to "get on in the +world." + +"Well?" he asked. + +"Do you think you've given him a fair chance?" + +He was restored to his usual poise. "I suppose he complained that I +didn't." + +Dorothy's eyes went wide. "No, he said that after I had heard the news +from you, he would leave everything to me." + +"Oh!" + +"But, father, I don't think you _have_ been fair. Tom is right. _I_ +don't chew gum, do I?" + +"Well----" He was indignant. Then he stopped thoughtfully. "No." + +"But Mary downstairs does. She wouldn't be offended at 'Lulu Tulu.' I +dare say she'd think it 'just grand.'" + +He returned no answer. + +"Come, daddy," she went on. "New York has grown lots--even since I was +little. And--and some people get behind the times. They think they're +being dignified when it's only that they're antiquated." + +He looked shrewdly at her. "I never heard you talk like that before. +Where did you----" + +"Tom said that a week ago," she admitted. "And he said, too, that he +could double the results if he only had full swing. Instead, you admit +he's a mere clerk for that horrid Pepper. Oh, daddy, daddy," she +pleaded. "Give him a chance." Then her voice went low again. "I'm going +to marry him anyway," she said, "and you don't want this between. If he +fails, I'll stand the loss from what mother left me. Give him full +swing--a real chance, daddy! He's going to be--_your son_." + +John Houghton looked into the earnest girlish face. He wound the curl +about his finger. "Kaufmann has always wanted to visit the Fatherland," +he said irrelevantly. + +She gave a quick, eager look. "And that Pepper could go on a vacation." + + * * * * * + +Days drag very slowly at a summer resort, especially when one has +promised not to write to him. But Dorothy's father had kept his word, so +she could but do the same. Behind, in the sweltering city, in full +charge for six weeks was Tom Brainard. His authority included permission +to invent and use any new labels or trade-marks he saw fit. + +The girl at the seashore, however, was also busy--amusing her father +that he might not give too much time to thinking. And then, when three +of the six weeks had passed, came the accident to the motor car. + +She was told that with rest and no worries, her father would recover in +a week or two. She cheerfully fitted into the rôle of assistant to the +nurse in charge, and, as soon as the doctor allowed, prepared to read +his mail to him as he lay, eyes and head bandaged. But as she opened and +glanced over the accumulated letters, she suddenly went pale. She read +one in particular from end to end, and then, with a scared, furtive look +at the bandaged figure, slipped it into a pocket. + +Later, when her father had finished dictating to her, she answered the +concealed letter herself. + +Again the days drifted. The bandages were removed; but still the girl +continued to scan the mail. Her vigilance was rewarded. She flushed over +a second letter which, with one in a worn envelope, she took to her +father. + +He saw the careworn expression. "My little girl has been overworking," +he said. + +She held out the worn letter. "I've had this for some time--but--but I +waited for something more, and here it is." She showed the other. + +He took the first, and when he had finished, his hand was trembling. + +"I regret to report that things are in a chaos," it ran. "All of the +regular advertising has been withdrawn. The usual entertainment money +for salesmen classed under this head has been stopped. In consequence, +our city trade has tumbled fearfully--and you know how bad it was +before. The worst news I have to offer is in regard to Mr. Brainard +personally. Our detective reports that his time outside is spent in most +questionable company. He has been seen drinking at roof-gardens with a +certain dissipated pugilist named Little Sullivan, and was traced with +this man to the apartment of a song-and-dance woman named Violette. He +seems to be spending money extravagantly and visits certain bohemian +quarters in the vicinity of Jones Street, where he puts in his time with +disreputable-looking men. I beg leave to advise immediate +action.--Mowbray." + +"My God!" groaned Houghton. This explained that derisive offer of +fifty-one from Consolidated Pepsin. + +"And you kept this from me?" + +"They said not to worry you," she said. "I--I've had enough for two. +Besides, I answered it." + +"You did! What----?" + +"I told them to wait a little longer." + +The father groaned again. + +"I just _had_ to, daddy; and then today this letter came." + +He seized it eagerly. It read: "You were right about waiting. Suspend +all action." + +"What does it mean?" she asked. + +"We'll find out tomorrow," he answered grimly. + +The 4:30 train gave John Houghton just time to reach the office before +it closed. Dorothy went home. Her father, roused by the evil news of the +day before, had impressed her with all that it might mean in a material +way. As though that mattered!--as though anything could hurt her more! +She would have been willing to go with Tom Brainard in rags before--but +now! + +She sat by the telephone with clenched fists, her traveling veil still +pushed up on her hat, the lines that had come into her face during the +past week deepening with the dusk. At last--a long, sharp ring! +"Yes--father--not dine at home--meet you at the Yolland--a guest. +Yes--but about Tom--what?--7:30--But about Tom, daddy? Good-by?!! But, +daddy!!!" + +It was no use. He had hung up. She called feverishly for the office, but +the reply was, "They do not answer." Mechanically she went up to her +room. "The blue mousseline, Susan," she said. + +As the maid laid it out, she walked the floor. Through the window the +park lay green and inviting. She longed to fly to the cool grass and +run--and run---- + +From below came the loud, rasping notes of a street-piano that, in some +incomprehensible fashion, had wandered to the deserted row of houses. +The noise, for all that there was a pleasing swing to the air, irritated +her. She threw the man a quarter. "Go away," she waved. + +At last the maid said her mistress was ready, and Dorothy, without +questioning the decision, allowed herself to be put into the brougham. + +The drive seemed hours long, and then--her father's face told her +nothing. Without a word, he led her to a reception-room. As they +entered, a figure sprang to meet them. + +For a moment she hesitated. Then, "Tom!" she cried, and caught his hand. + +He saw the whiteness of her face, and all the yearnings of their +separation matched it upon his. + +"Dorothy!" he faltered. + +Her father interrupted. "Tom is to explain how he has quadrupled our +business in the last week." + +A sudden weakness seized her. She followed them unsteadily. Seated at a +table, however, she was able to smile again. At that moment, the +orchestra, striking up, suddenly caught her attention. +"Tum--tum-tum--tum-tum--tum"--that haunting, swinging melody of the +street-piano. + +"What tune is that?" she asked. + +Brainard smiled. "_That_ is a tune that has suddenly become popular. Any +night you may see hundreds of East Side children dancing on the asphalt +and singing it." + +"Yes," she said. "I heard it on a street-piano." + +"It's called," he went on, '"My Lulu Tulu Girl.' All the grinders have +it. Billy Tompkins, Noughty-three, who lives in the Jones Street social +settlement, worked that for me. Those dagoes worship him--saved a kid's +life or something." + +A light came into John Houghton's eyes. + +"That's part of the scheme. Aspwell wrote the song. I found him down in +bohemia working on an opera. But, for the sake of old days in the senior +extravaganza, he turned off 'My Lulu Tulu Girl.' You know those orders +on your desk are for our new brand, 'Lulu Tulu.' The song was +introduced two weeks ago at the Metropolitan Roof by Violette, a young +lady who married our old football trainer, Little Sullivan. We'll hear +her later--I have tickets. Then we'll go to Leith's; there's a turn +there by 'Jim Bailey and his Six Lulu Tulu Girls'--rather vulgar (while +they dance they chew the gum and perform calisthenics with it) but it +seems to go. Then----" + +"Tom!" + +"After we've dined, I'll show you our regular magazine and newspaper +advertising in the reading-room--double space. You see, I couldn't ask +you to increase, so I stopped it for a time and saved up. But I hope +you'll stand for it regularly. It's mainly pictures of Miss. Lulu Tulu +in a large Florodora hat, with verses below apostrophizing the poetry of +motion of her jaws. Then there's a line of limericks about the +adventures of the 'Lulu Tulu Gummies'--small gum-headed tykes--always in +trouble until they find Lulu. I got Phillips to do that as a personal +favor." + +"Also Noughty-something, I suppose," remarked Houghton. + +"Yes. But he graduated before my time. I knew his work in the college +annual. He's in the magazines now. Then I got Professor Wheaton--'Jimmy +the Grind' we used to call him--his folks wanted him to be a +poet--imagine Jimmy a poet!--I got Professor Wheaton to give us some +readers on 'Tulu as a Salivary Stimulant,' 'The Healthful Effect of Pure +Saliva on Food Products' and 'The Degenerative Effect of Artificially +Relieving an Organ of its Proper Functions.' That hits the Pepsin +people, you see----" + +And so it ran--until he had covered his plan fully, and Dorothy's face +with happy smiles. + +"Tom," said the father, "if I had opened that letter instead of Dolly!" + +Dorothy suddenly became demure under their gaze and sought to change the +subject. "Then you admit, daddy, that a college man is of some use?" + +"I'll admit that Tom got the business. But that was because he is +naturally clever and business-like, not because----" + +"Just a moment," said Brainard. "I think I can show that you're +mistaken. I found out that Pepper was doing the wrong thing--by the +first rule of criticism (freshman English): 'What is the author trying +to do? Does he do it? Is it worth doing?' Substitute 'advertising man' +for 'author' and you have a business that is worth doing (since you +continue it)--and by the other two questions I saw his incongruity of +subject-matter and expression.' My economics taught me the 'law of +supply and demand.' 'Analytical research of original authorities' taught +me where the demand was. There was only the problem of a cause to +stimulate it. Through deductive logic' and 'psychology' I got the cause +that would appeal, and the effect worked out in an increased demand +which we were ready to supply--just like a problem in math." + +The elder man smiled. "I don't understand a word you say, but it seems +to have _worked_ well. In the future, bring in as many of your Noughty +friends as we need. I'll answer for Kaufmann." + +The other shook his head. "I'm not sure they would be any too anxious." + +Houghton gasped in surprise. "What's that--they wouldn't be anxious to +go into _business_! Why not?" + +"Why not?" There was equal amazement in the younger man's tone. "Would +you be anxious to leave a place where you're surrounded by friends +you've tried--friends that won't stab you in the back the next minute +and call it a 'business deal'--where you're respected and in control of +things, and plunge out to become a freshman in the world-life, to do the +sorting and trying all over again?" + +"I remember--I remember----" + +"And besides, what right has any one to assume that _business_ is above +art, charity or even mere learning? Billy Tompkins, in the slums helping +dagoes, is a failure to his father--so is Aspwell with his opera--so is +Williams with his spectacles in his lab. But--who knows--when the Great +Business is finally balanced----" He stopped, conscious that he was +growing too rhetorical. + +"If you loved college ideals so much more than business," observed +Houghton, "then why did you come to us?" + +A different light stole into the younger man's eyes. "Because"--he +answered, "because I loved something else better than either." And he +reached his hand under the cloth to one who understood. + +That is all--except that the next offer of Consolidated Pepsin was, +"Will you please name your own terms?" + + + + +THE TEWANA + +BY + +HERMAN WHITAKER + +Reprinted from _The Blue Mule_ _A Western Magazine of Stories_, of +February, 1906 by permission + + +SHE WAS a Tewana of the Tehuantepec Isthmus, a primal woman, +round-armed, deep-breasted, shapely as the dream on which Canova modeled +Venus. Her skin was of the rich gold hue that marks the blood unmuddied +by Spanish strain; to see her, poised on a rich hip by the river's +brink, wringing her tresses after the morning bath, it were justifiable +to mistake her for some beautiful bronze. Moreover, it were easy to see +her, for, in Tehuantepec, innocence is thoughtless as in old Eden. When +Paul Steiner passed her one morning, she gave him the curious open-eyed +stare of a deer, bade him a pleasant "_Buenos días, Señor!_" and would +have proceeded, undisturbed, with her toilet, but that he spoke. In this +he was greatly mistaken. Gringos there are--praise the saints!--who can +judge Tehuantepec by the insight of kindred purity, but Paul had to +learn by the more uncomfortable method of a stone in the face. + +He ought not, however, to be too severely handled for his dulness. +Though a mining engineer, nature had endowed him with little beyond the +algebraic qualities necessary to the profession; a German-American, a +dull birth and heredity had predestined him for that class which clothes +its morality in fusty black and finds safety in following its neighbor +in the cut of its clothes and conduct. As then, he was not planned for +original thinking, it is not at all surprising that he should--when +pitchforked by Opportunity into the depths of tropical jungles--lose his +moral bearings, fail to recognize a virtue that went in her own golden +skin, and so go down before a temptation that, of old, populated the +sexless desert. + +That his error continued in the face of Andrea's stone is certainly more +remarkable, though this also should be charged rather against her +mismarksmanship than to the wearing quality of his electro-plate +morality. It is doubtful if even the ancient Jews had found "stoning" as +efficacious a "cure for souls" had they thrown wide as she. Anyway, Paul +stood "unconvicted," as the revivalists have it, and being moved to +chagrin instead of shame, he carried the story of Andrea's surprising +modesty to Bachelder. + +Here was a man of other parts. An artist, he had traced the spinning +meridians over desert and sea, following the fluttering wing of the muse +till she rewarded his deathless hope by pausing for him in this small +Indian town. Expecting to stay a week, he had remained fifteen years, +failing to exhaust in that long time a tithe of its form and color. +Screened by tropical jungle, a mask of dark palms laced with twining +_bejucas_, it sat like a wonderfully blazoned cup in a wide green saucer +that was edged with the purple of low environing hills--a brimming cup +of inspiration. Save where some oaken grill supplied an ashen note, its +adobe streets burned in smoldering rose, purple and gold--the latter +always predominant. It glowed in the molten sunlight, shone in the soft +satin of a woman's skin; the very dust rose in auriferous clouds from +the wooden-wheeled ox-carts. But for its magenta tiling, the pillared +market stood, a huge monochrome, its deep yellows splashed here and +there with the crimson of the female hucksters' dresses. This was their +every-day wear--a sleeveless bodice, cut low over the matchless +amplitudes and so short that the smooth waist showed at each uplift of +the round, bronze arms; a skirt that was little more than a cloth wound +about the limbs; a shawl, all of deep blood color. Small wonder that he +had stayed on, and on, and on, while the weeks merged into months, and +months into years. + +He lived in the town's great house, an old feudal hacienda with walls +two yards thick, recessed windows oaken grilled, and a pleasant patio +where the hidalgo could take his ease under cocoanut palms and lemon +trees while governments went to smash without. Here Bachelder was always +to be found in the heat of the day, and here he listened with huge +disgust to Paul's story. Because of their faith, strength and +purity--according to their standards--he had always sworn by the Tewana +women, setting them above all others, and though a frank sinner against +accepted moral codes, he would never have confused nudity with vice. + +"Man!" he exclaimed--so loudly that Rosa, his housekeeper, imagined that +something was going wrong again with the painting--"Man! all the dollars +you will ever earn would buy nothing more than her stone! If you want +her, you will have to marry her." + +"Oh, don't look so chopfallen!" he went on, scornfully, when Paul +blinked. "I mean marriage as she counts it. You will have to court her +for a couple of months--flowers, little gifts, small courtesies, that +sort of thing; then, if she likes you, she will come and keep your +house. When, later, you feel like settling down in the bosom of +respectability, there won't be a shred of law to hold you." + +Now if Paul lacked wit to analyze and apply to his own government a +moral law that has evolved from the painful travail of the generations, +it does not follow that he was too stupid to feel irony. Reddening, he +put forth the usual declaimer of honorable intention with the glib +tongue of passion. He meant well by the girl! Would give her a good +home, find her better than she had ever been found in her life! As for +marrying? He was not of the marrying kind! Never would! and so on, +finishing with a vital question--did Bachelder know where she lived? + +His color deepened under the artist's sarcastic glance. "So that's what +you're after? I wondered why you picked me for a father confessor. Well, +I don't, but you won't have any trouble in finding her. All the women +sell something; she's sure to be on the market in the morning. You will +get her quite easily. The girls seem to take pride in keeping a Gringo's +house--I don't know why, unless it be that they are so dazzled by the +things we have that they cannot see us for what we are." + + * * * * * + +A thousand crimson figures were weaving in and out the market's chrome +pillars when Paul entered next morning, but though it was hard to single +one person from the red confusion, luck led him almost immediately to +where Andrea stood, a basket of tortillas at her feet. Lacking +customers, just then, she leaned against a pillar, her scarlet flaming +against its chrome, thoughtful, pensive, as Bachelder painted her for +"The Enganchada," the girl sold for debt. Her shawl lay beside her +basket, so her hair, that had flown loose since the morning bath, fell +in a cataract over the polished amplitudes of bosom and shoulders. Save +when feeling shot them with tawny flashes--as waving branches filter +mottled sunlight on brown waters--her eyes were dark as the pools of +Lethe, wherein men plunge and forget the past. They brought +forgetfulness to Paul of his moral tradition, racial pride, the +carefully conned apology which he did not remember until, an hour later, +he fed her entire stock in trade to his dog. It was better so. Black, +brown or white women are alike sensitive to the language of flowers, and +the lilies he left in her basket served him more sweetly than could his +stammering tongue. Next morning, curiosity replaced hostility in her +glance, and when he left the market, her brown gaze followed him beyond +the portals. Needs not, however, to linger over the courtship. +Sufficient that color of skin does not affect the feminine trait that +forgiveness comes easier when the offense was provoked by one's own +beauty; the story goes on from the time that Andrea moved into his house +with a stock of household gear that extorted musical exclamations from +all her girl friends. + +To their housekeeping Andrea contributed only her handsome body with a +contained cargo of unsuspected qualities and virtues that simply +dazzled Paul as they cropped out upon the surface. In public a Tewana +bears herself staidly, carrying a certain dignity of expression that of +itself reveals how, of old, her forbears came to place limits to the +ambition of the conquering Aztec and made even Spanish dominion little +more than an uncomfortable name. Though, through courtship, Andrea's +stern composure had shown no trace of a thaw, it yet melted like snow +under a south wind when she was once ensconced in their little home. +Moreover, she unmasked undreamed of batteries, bewildering Paul with +infinite variety of feminine complexities. She would be arch, gay, +saucy, and in the next breath fall into one of love's warm silences, +watching him with eyes of molten bronze. She taught him the love of the +tropics without transcending modesty. Also she astonished him, +negatively, by the absence of those wide differences of nature and +feeling between her and the cultured women of his own land that reading +in the primal school of fiction had led him to expect. He learned from +her that woman is always woman under any clime or epoch. The greater +strength of her physique lessened, perhaps, the vine-like tendency, yet +she clung sufficiently to satisfy the needs of his masculinity; and she +displayed the feminine unreason, at once so charming and irritating, +with sufficient coquetry to freshen her love. Her greatest charm, +however, lay in the dominant quality of brooding motherhood, the +birthright of primal women and the very essence of femininity. After one +of those sweet silences, she would steal on him from behind, and pull +his head to her bosom with such a squeeze as a loving mother gives her +son. + +Yet, under even this mood, her laughter lay close to the surface, and +nothing tapped its merry flow quicker than Paul's Spanish. Picking up +the language haphazard, he had somehow learned to apply the verb +_tumblar_ to describe the pouring out of coffee, and he clung to it +after correction with a persistence that surely inhered in his dogged +German blood. "_Tumbarlo el café_!" he would say, and she would repeat +it, faithfully mimicking his accent. + +"Tumble out the coffee!" following it with peals of laughter. Or, +turning up a saucy face, she would ask, "Shall I tumble out more +coffee?" and again the laughter which came as readily at her own misfit +attempts at English. + +These, few and simple, were learned of Bachelder's woman, and sprung on +Paul as surprises on his return from visiting the mining properties, +which required his frequent presence. For instance, slipping to his knee +on one such occasion, with the great heart of her pulsing against him, +she sighed: "I love thee, lovest thou me?" + +A lesson from Bachelder pleased him less. Knowing Paul's pride in his +German ancestry, and having been present when, in seasons of swollen +pride, he had reflected invidiously in Andrea's presence on Mexico and +all things Mexican, the artist, in a wicked moment, taught her to lisp +"_Hoch der Kaiser_!" _lèse-majesté_ that almost caused Paul a +fainting-fit. + +"You shouldn't have taught her that," he said to Bachelder. But the +mischief was done. Whenever, thereafter, through torment of insect or +obsession of national pride, he animadverted on her country, she +silenced him with the treasonable expression. + +She learned other than English from Bachelder's woman, sweating out the +dog days in Rosa's kitchen, experimenting with the barbaric dishes +Gringos love. She slaved for his comfort, keeping his linen, her house +and self so spotlessly clean that as Paul's passion waned, affection +grew up in its place--the respectful affection that, at home, would have +afforded a permanent basis for a happy marriage. When, a year later, +their baby came, no northern benedict could have been more proudly +happy. + +Watching him playing with the child, Bachelder would wonder if his union +also would terminate like all the others of his long experience. In her, +for it was a girl baby, Paul's fairness worked out, as she grew, in +marvelous delicacies of cream and rose, weaving, moreover, a golden woof +through the brown of her hair. From her mother she took a lithe +perfection of form. At two she was well started for a raving beauty, and +as much through his love for her as for Andrea, Paul had come, like +Bachelder, to swear by the Tewana women. + +He might have been swearing by them yet, but his company's business +suddenly called him north, and no man could have bidden a white wife +more affectionate farewell or have been more sure of his own return. "It +is a comfort to know that your woman won't go gadding while you are +away, and that is more than a fellow can make sure of at home." These +were his last words to Bachelder. + +He was to be absent two months, but after he had reported adversely on a +mine in Sonora, he was ordered to expert a group in far Guerrera, where +the mountains turn on edge and earth tosses in horrible tumult. Then +came a third order to report in New York for personal conference. Thus +the months did sums in simple addition while Andrea waited, serenely +confident of his return. Not that she lacked experience of deserted +wives, or based hope on her own attractions. Her furious mother love +simply could not form, much less harbor, the possibility of Paul's +deserting their pretty Lola. + +And, barring her loneliness, the year was kind to her, feeding her +mother love with small social triumphs. For one, Lola was chosen to sit +with three other tots, the most beautiful of Tewana's children, at the +feet of the Virgin in the Theophany of the "Black Christ" at the eastern +fiesta. From morning to mirk midnight, it was a hard vigil. By day the +vaulted church reeked incense; by night a thousand candles guttered +under the dark arches, sorely afflicting small, weary eyelids; yet Lola +sat it out like a small thoroughbred, earning thereby the priest's +kindly pat and her mother's devoted worship. + +Then, on her third saint day, the small girl donned her first fiesta +costume, a miniature of the heirlooms which descend from mother to +daughter, each generation striving to increase the magnificence of the +costume just as it strove to add to the gold pieces in the chain which +did triple duty as hoard, dowry and necklace. Andrea subtracted several +English sovereigns from her own to start Lola's, and, with the American +gold eagle, the gift of Bachelder, her _padrino_, godfather, they made +an affluent beginning for so small a girl. As for the costume? Its silk, +plush, velours, were worked by Andrea's clever fingers curiously and +wondrously, even when judged by difficult Tewana standards. Bachelder +painted the small thing, kneeling by her mother's side before the great +gold altar. Her starched skirt, with its band of red velours, stands of +itself leveling her head, so that she looks for all the world like a +serious cherub peering out from a wonderfully embroidered bath-cabinet. +But ah! the serious devotion of the faces! The muse Bachelder had +followed so faithfully was hovering closely when his soul flamed out +upon that canvas. It ranks with his "Enganchada." Either would bring him +fame, yet they rest, face to face, in a dusty locker, awaiting the day +when time or death shall cure the ache that a glimpse of either brings +him. + +Two months after that canvas was put away, eighteen counting from the +day of his departure, Bachelder walked, one day, down to the primitive +post-office to see if the mail that was due from the little fishing port +of Salina Cruz contained aught for him. _Waded_ would better describe +his progress, for it was the middle of the rains; water filled the air, +dropping in sheets from a livid sky; the streets were rivers running +full over the cobble curbs. Such white planters as came in occasionally +from the jungle country had been housefast upon their plantations for +this month, and, having the town pretty much to himself, the artist's +thought turned naturally to Paul, who used to bring doubtful mitigation +to his isolation. + +He had written the artist twice, but now six months had elapsed since +the last letter. "He'll never come back," the artist muttered. "Poor +Andrea! But it is better--now." + +Warm with the pity the thought inspired, he turned the corner into the +street that led to the post-office, and was almost run down by the first +mule of a train that came driving through the rain. + +"Bachelder!" the rider cried. + +It was surely Paul. Pulling up his beast, he thrust a wet hand from +under his rain poncha, then, turning in his saddle, he spoke to the +woman who rode behind him, "Ethel, this is Mr. Bachelder." + +The alternative had happened! As a small hand thrust back the hood of +mackintosh, Bachelder found himself staring at a sweet face, while an +equally sweet greeting was drowned by echoing questions in his mind. +"Good God!" he first thought. "Why did he bring her here?" And upon that +immediately followed, "How ever did he get her?" + +An evening spent with the pair at the small Mexican hotel increased his +wonder. Pleasant, pretty, of a fine sensibility and intellectual without +loss of femininity, the girl would have been fitly mated with a man of +the finest clay. How could she have married Paul? Bachelder thought, and +correctly, that he discerned the reason in a certain warmth of romantic +feeling that tinged her speech and manner. Daughter of an Episcopal +clergyman in Paul's native town, she had sighed for something different +from the humdrum of small teas, dinners, parochial calls, and when Paul +came to her with the glamour of tropical travel upon him, she married, +mistaking the glamour for him. + +"She loved me for the dangers I had passed!" the artist mused, quoting +Shakespeare, on his way home. "What a tragedy when she discovers him for +a spurious Othello!" + +Dropping into the studio next morning, Paul answered the other question. +"Why not?" he asked, with a touch of ancestral stolidity. "My work is +here. Andrea?" His next words plainly revealed that while his moral +plating had cracked and peeled under tropical heat, the iron convention +beneath had held without fracture. He began: "It was a beastliness that +we committed----" + +"That _you_ committed," Bachelder sharply corrected. "And what of the +child?" + +Blinking in the old fashion, Paul went on, "I was coming to that. She +cannot be allowed to grow up a little Mexican. I shall adopt her and +have her properly educated." Here he looked at Bachelder as though +expecting commendation for his honorable intention, and, receiving none, +went on, dilating on his plans for the child as if resolved to earn it. +Yet, setting aside this patent motive, it was easy to see as he warmed +to his subject that Andrea had not erred in counting on Lola to bring +him back. With her beauty she would do any man proud! The whole United +States would not be able to produce her rival! She should have the best +that money could give her! + +Wondering at the curious mixture of class egotism, paternal tenderness +and twisted morality, Bachelder listened to the end, then said, "Of +course, Mrs. Steiner approves of a ready-made family?" + +Paul's proud feathers draggled a little, and he reddened. "Well--you +see--she thinks Lola is the daughter of a dead mining friend. Some day, +of course, I'll tell her. In fact, the knowledge will grow on her. But +not now. It wouldn't do. She couldn't understand." + +"No?" But the quiet sarcasm was wasted on Paul, and the artist +continued, "Aren't you leaving Andrea out of your calculations?" + +Paul ruffled like an angry gobbler. His eyes took on an ugly gleam, his +jaw stuck out, his expression incarnated Teutonic obstinacy. "Oh, she'll +have to be fixed. Luckily it doesn't take much to buy these savage +women; their feelings are all on the surface. I'll give her the house, +furniture, and a hundred dollars cash. That should make up for the loss +of----" + +"----a husband?" Bachelder's face darkened. Throughout the conversation +he had worn an air of suppression, as though holding, by an effort, +something back. Now he straightened with a movement that was analogous +to the flexure of a coiled spring. His lips opened, closed again, and he +went on with his quiet questioning. "For a husband, yes. They are easy +stock to come by. But not for the child of her labor. Supposing she +refuses?" + +Paul's eyes glinted under his frown. "Then the Jefe-Politico earns the +hundred dollars and the law gives her to me." + +The spring uncoiled. "Never! She died a month ago of yellow fever." + +Under Teuton phlegm lies an hysteria that rivals that of the Latin +races. Paul's flame died to ashes and he burst out sobbing, throwing his +hands up and out with ungainly gestures. Looking down upon his awkward +grief, Bachelder half regretted the just anger that caused him to slip +the news like a lightning bolt; he would have felt sorrier but that he +perceived Paul's sorrow rooted in the same colossal egotism that would +have sacrificed the mother on the altars of its vast conceit. He knew +that Paul was grieving for himself, for lost sensations of pride, love +and pleasure that he could never experience again. When the ludicrous +travesty had partly spent itself, he stemmed the tide with a question. + +"If you don't care to see Andrea, I can make the settlements you hinted +at." + +Paul glanced up, stupidly resentful, through his tears. "The child is +dead. That is all off." + +"You will do nothing for her?" As much to prop an opinion of human +nature that was already too low for comfort as in Andrea's interest, +Bachelder asked the question. + +"She has the house furnishings," Paul sullenly answered. "That leaves +her a sight better off than she was before she knew me." + +Rising, the artist walked over to the window. "The river is rising," he +said, when he could trust himself to speak. "Another foot, and away goes +the bridge. When do you go to the mine?" + +"Tomorrow." + +"Mrs. Steiner goes with you?" + +"No, too wet." + +Bachelder hesitated. "I'd offer you my quarters, but--you see I am +neither married nor unmarried." + +"No!" Paul agreed with ponderous respectability. "It would never do. +Besides, I've hired a house of the Jefe-Politico; the one that crowns +the Promontory. When the rain slacks we'll move out to the mine." + +"There is one thing I should like," he added as he rose to go. "If you +would have a stone put over the child's grave--something nice--you're a +better judge than me,--I'll----" + +"Too late," the artist interrupted. "Andrea broke up her necklace; put +savings of eighteen generations into the finest tomb in the cemetery." +He looked curiously at Paul, but his was that small order of mind which +persistently fixes responsibility for the most inevitable calamity upon +some person. To the day of his death he would go on taxing the child's +death against Andrea; he did not even comment on this last proof of her +devoted love. + +After he was gone, Bachelder returned to his window, just in time to see +the bridge go. A thin stream in summer, meandering aimlessly between +wide banks, the river now ran a full half-mile wide, splitting the town +with its yeasty race. An annual occurrence, this was a matter of small +moment to the severed halves. Each would pursue the even tenor of its +way till the slack of the rains permitted communication by canoe and the +rebuilding of the bridge. But it had special significance now in that +Andrea lived on the other bank. + +He wondered if the news of Paul's return had crossed, muttering: "Poor +girl, poor girl!" Adding, a moment later: "But happier than the other. +Poor little Desdemona!" + + * * * * * + +How melancholy is the voice of a flood! Its resurgent dirge will move a +new-born babe to frightened wailing, and stirs in strong men a vague +uneasiness that roots in the vast and calamitous experience of the race. +Call of hungry waters, patter of driving rain, sough of the weird wind, +it requires good company and a red-coal fire to offset their moanings of +eternity. Yet though the fireless tropics could not supply one, and she +lacked the other, the storm voices were hardly responsible for Ethel +Steiner's sadness the third morning after her arrival. + +Neither was it due to the fact that Paul had failed to come in the +preceding night from the mine. Seeming relieved rather than distressed, +she had gone quietly to bed. No, it was neither the storm, his absence, +nor any of the small miseries that afflict young wives. Poor Desdemona! +The curtain was rising early on the tragedy which Bachelder foresaw. +Already the glamour was falling from Paul to the tropics, where it +rightfully belonged; this morning she was living her bitter hour, +fighting down the premonition of a fatal mistake. + +What with her thoughtful pauses, she made but a slow toilet, and when +the last rebellious curl had been coaxed to its place behind her small +ear, she turned, sighing, to the window. One glance, and she started +back, pale, clutching her hands. A rocky snout, thrusting far out into +the belly of the river's great bow, the Promontory stood high above the +ordinary flood level. Once, in far-away Aztec times, a Tewana tradition +had it that a cloudburst in the rains had swept it clear of houses, and +now Time's slow cycle had brought the same deadly coincidence. Where, +last night, a hundred lights had flickered below her windows, a boil of +yellow waters spread, cutting off her house, the last and highest, from +the mainland. Black storm had drowned the cries of fleeing householders. +The flood's mighty voice, bellowing angrily for more victims as it +swallowed house after house, had projected but a faint echo into her +dreams. Now, however, she remembered that Carmencita, her new maid, had +failed to bring in the morning coffee. + +Wringing her hands and loudly lamenting the deadly fear that made her +forget her mistress, Carmencita, poor girl, was in the crowd that was +helping Paul and Bachelder to launch a freight canoe. When Paul--who had +ridden in early from the little village, where he had been +storm-stayed--had tried to impress a crew, the peon boatman had sworn +volubly that no pole would touch bottom and that one might as well try +to paddle the town as a heavy canoe against such a flood. But when +Bachelder stepped in and manned the big sweep, a half-dozen followed. +Notwithstanding, their river wisdom proved. Paddling desperately, they +gained no nearer than fifty yards to the pale face at the window. + +"Don't be afraid!" Bachelder shouted, as they swept by. "We'll get you +next time!" + +If the walls did not melt? Already the flood was licking with hungry +tongues the adobe bricks where the plaster had bulged and fallen, and an +hour would fly while they made a landing and dragged the canoe back for +another cast. The boatmen knew! Their faces expressed, anticipated that +which happened as they made the landing half a mile below. Paul saw it +first. Through the swift passage he sat, facing astern, helplessly +clutching the gunwale, and his cry, raucous as that of a maimed animal, +signaled the fall of the house. Sobbing, he collapsed on the bank. + +Bachelder looked down upon him. Momentarily stunned, his thought +returned along with a feeling of relief that would have framed itself +thus in words: "Poor Desdemona! Now she will never know!" + +"_Señor! Señor! Mira!_" A boatman touched his shoulder. + +Two heads were swirling down the flood, a light and a dark. Bachelder +instantly knew Ethel, but, as yet, he could not make out the strong +swimmer who was at such infinite pains to hold the fair head above +water. Though, time and again, the dark head went under for smotheringly +long intervals, Ethel's never once dipped, and, up or down, the swimmer +battled fiercely, angling across the flood. She--for long hair stamped +her a woman--gained seventy yards shoreward while floating down two +hundred. Three hundred gave her another fifty. So, rising and sinking, +she drifted with her burden down upon Paul and Bachelder. At fifty yards +the artist caught a glimpse of her face, but not till she was almost +under their hands did Paul recognize the swimmer. + +"Andrea!" he shouted. + + * * * * * + +Reassured by Bachelder's cheery shout, Ethel had busied herself +collecting her watch and other trinkets from the bureau till a smacking +of wet feet caused her to turn, startled. A woman stood in the door, a +woman of matchless amplitudes, such as of old tempted the gods from +heaven. Stark naked, save for the black cloud that dripped below her +waist, her bronze beauty was framed by the ponderous arch. + +"I don't know who you are," Ethel said, recovering, "but you are very +beautiful, and, under the circumstances, welcome. Under ordinary +conditions, your advent would have been a trifle embarrassing. I must +find you a shawl before the canoes come. Here, take this blanket." + +She little imagined how embarrassing the visitation might have proved +under very ordinary conditions. Though the news of Paul's return did +cross before the bridge was carried away, Andrea did not hear it till +that morning, and she would never have had it from a Tewana neighbor. +They pitied the bereavement to which widowhood in the most cruel of +forms was now added. But among them she unfortunately counted a peon +woman of the upper Mexican plateau, one of the class which took from the +Conquest only Spanish viciousness to add to Aztec cruelty. Jealous of +Andrea's luck--as they had deemed it--in marriage, Pancha had thirsted +for the opportunity which came as they drew water together that morning +from the brink of the flood. + +"'Tis the luck of us all!" she exclaimed, malevolently ornamenting her +evil tidings. "They take their pleasure of us, these Gringos, then when +the hide wrinkles, ho for a prettier! They say Tewana hath not such +another as his new flame, and thy house is a hovel to that he fits up +for her on the Promontory." + +Here the hag paused, for two good reasons. That the barbed shaft might +sink deep and rankle from Andrea's belief that her supplanter was a girl +of her tribe, but principally because, just then, she went down under +the ruins of her own _olla_. A fighter, after her kind, with many a +cutting to her credit, she cowered like a snarling she-wolf among the +sharp potsherds cowed by the enormous anger she had provoked; lay and +watched while the tall beauty ripped shawl, slip and skirt from her +magnificent limbs, then turned and plunged into the flood. Pancha rose +and shook her black fist, hurling curses after. + +"May the alligators caress thy limbs, the fishes pluck thine eyes, the +wolves crack thy bleached bones on the strand." + +That was the lightest of them, but, unheeding Andrea swam on. As her own +house stood in the extreme skirt of the town, the Promontory lay more +than a mile below, but she could see neither it nor the night's +devastation because of the river's bend. Because of the same bend, she +had the aid of the current, which set strongly over to the other shore, +but apart from this the river was one great danger. Floating logs, huge +trees, acres of tangled greenery, the sweepings of a hundred miles of +jungle, covered its surface with other and ghastlier trove. Here the +saurians of Pancha's curse worried a drowned pig, there they fought over +a cow's swollen carcass; yet because of carrion taste or food plethora, +they let her by. There an enormous saber, long and thick as a church, +turned and tumbled, threshing air and water with enormous spreading +branches, creating dangerous swirls and eddies. These she avoided, and, +having swum the river at ebb and flood every day of her life from a +child, she now easily clove its roar and tumble; swam on, her heat +unabated by the water's chill, till, sweeping around the bend, she +sighted the lone house on the Promontory. + +That gave her pause. Had death, then, robbed her anger? The thought +broke the spring of her magnificent energy. Feeling at last the touch of +fatigue, she steered straight for the building and climbed in, to rest, +at a lower window, without a thought of its being occupied till Ethel +moved above. + +Who shall divine her thoughts as, standing there in the door, she gazed +upon her rival? Did she not recognize her as such, or was she moved by +the touch of sorrow, aftermath of the morning's bitterness, that still +lingered on the young wife's face? Events seemed to predicate the +former, but, be that as it may, the eyes which grief and despair had +heated till they flamed like small crucibles of molten gold, now cooled +to their usual soft brown; smiling, she refused the proffered blanket. + +"_Ven tu! Ven tu!_" she exclaimed, beckoning. Her urgent accent and +gesture carried her meaning, and without question Ethel followed down to +a lower window. + +"But the canoe?" she objected, when Andrea motioned for her to disrobe. +"It will soon be here!" + +"_Canoa_?" From the one word Andrea caught her meaning. "_No hay tiempo. +Mira!_" + +Leaning out, Ethel looked and shrank back, her inexperience convinced by +a single glance at the wall. She assisted the strong hands to rip away +her encumbering skirts. It took only a short half-minute, and with that +afforded time for a small femininity to come into play. Placing her own +shapely arm against Ethel's, Andrea murmured soft admiration at the +other's marvelous whiteness. But it was done in a breath. Slipping an +arm about Ethel's waist, Andrea jumped with her from the window, one +minute before the soaked walls collapsed. + +If Ethel's head had remained above, she might have retained her presence +of mind, and so have made things easier for her saviour, but, not +supposing that the whole world contained a mature woman who could not +swim, Andrea loosed her as they took the water. A quick dive partially +amended the error, retrieving Ethel, but not her composure. Coming up, +half-choked, she grappled Andrea, and the two went down together. The +Tewana could easily have broken the white girl's grip and--have lost +her. Instead, she held her breath and presently brought her senseless +burden to the surface. + +Of itself, the struggle was but a small thing to her strength, but +coming on top of the long swim under the shock and play of emotion, it +left her well nigh spent. Yet she struggled shoreward, battling, waging +the war of the primal creature that yields not till Death himself +reenforces bitter odds. + +To this exhaustion, the tales that float in Tehuantepec lay her end, and +Bachelder has never taken time to contradict them. But as she floated +almost within reach of his hand, she steadied at Paul's shout as under +an accession of sudden strength, and looked at her erstwhile husband. +Then, if never before, she knew--him, as well as his works! From him her +glance flashed to the fair face at her shoulder. What power of +divination possessed her? Or was it Bachelder's fancy? He swears to the +chosen few, the few who understand, that her face lit with the same +glory of tender pity that she held over her sick child. Then, before +they could reach her, she shot suddenly up till her bust gleamed wet to +the waist, turned, and dived, carrying down the senseless bride. + +Shouting, Bachelder also dived--in vain. In vain, the dives of his men. +Death, that mighty potentate, loves sweetness full well as a shining +mark. Swiftly, silently, a deep current bore them far out on the flooded +lands and there scoured a sepulcher safe from saurian teeth, beyond the +scope Pancha's curse. Later, the jungle flowed in after the receding +waters and wreathed over the twin grave morning-glories pure as the +white wife, glorious orchids rich as Andrea's bronze. + +HERE ENDS THE SPINNERS' BOOK OF FICTION BEING SHORT STORIES BY +CALIFORNIA WRITERS COMPILED BY THE BOOK COMMITTEE OF THE SPINNERS' CLUB +FOR THE SPINNERS' BENEFIT FUND INA D. COOLBRITH FIRST BENEFICIARY +ILLUSTRATED BY VARIOUS WESTERN ARTISTS THE DECORATIONS BY SPENCER WRIGHT +THE TYPOGRAPHY DESIGNED BY J. H. NASH PUBLISHED BY PAUL ELDER AND +COMPANY AND PRINTED FOR THEM AT THE TOMOYE PRESS NEW YORK NINETEEN +HUNDRED AND SEVEN + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Spinner's Book of Fiction, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPINNER'S BOOK OF FICTION *** + +***** This file should be named 20343-8.txt or 20343-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/3/4/20343/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Spinner's Book of Fiction + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 11, 2007 [EBook #20343] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPINNER'S BOOK OF FICTION *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class="center n"><a name="front" id="front"></a><img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt="The Devil Sit In Filon's Eyes And Laugh" width="40%" /><br /> +<span class="smcap">"the devil sit in filon's eyes<br />and laugh—laugh—some time he go away +like<br />a man at a window, but he come again.<br />M'siu, he live there!"</span><br /><br /> +From a Painting by E. Almond Withrow +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE</h2> +<h1>SPINNERS' BOOK OF<br /> FICTION</h1> + +<p class="g">BY<br /><br /> +Gertrude Atherton, Mary Austin<br />Geraldine Bonner, Mary Halleck Foote<br /> +Eleanor Gates, James Hopper, Jack London<br />Bailey Millard, Miriam +Michelson, W. C. Morrow<br />Frank Norris, Henry Milner Rideout<br />Charles +Warren Stoddard, Isobel Strong<br />Richard Walton Tully and<br />Herman Whitaker</p> + +<p class="g">With a dedicatory poem by<br /> +George Sterling</p> + +<p class="center">COLLECTED BY THE<br />BOOK COMMITTEE OF THE<br />SPINNERS' CLUB</p> + +<p class="g">Illustrated by<br /> +Lillie V. O'Ryan, Maynard Dixon<br />Albertine Randall +Wheelan, Merle Johnson<br />E. Almond Withrow and Gordon Ross<br />Initials and +decorations by<br />Spencer Wright</p> + +<p class="center n"><img src="images/symbol.jpg" alt="" width="12%"/></p> +<h3>PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY<br />SAN FRANCISCO AND NEW YORK</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>Published in behalf</i><br /><i>of The Spinners' Benefit Fund</i><br /><i>Ina D. Coolbrith</i><br /> +<i>First Beneficiary</i><br /> +———<br /> +<i>Copyright</i>, 1907<br /> +<i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Paul Elder and Company</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>TO INA D. COOLBRITH</h3> + +<div class="poem smcap"><div class="stanzab"> +<span class="i0">With wilder sighing in the pine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wind went by, and so I dreamed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in that dusk of sleep it seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A city by the sea was mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To statelier sprang the walls of Tyre<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From seaward cliff or stable hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And light and music met to fill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The splendid courts of her desire—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanzab"> +<span class="i0">(Extolling chords that cried her praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And golden reeds whose mellow moan<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was like an ocean's undertone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dying and lost on forest ways).<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanzac"> +<span class="i0">But sweeter far than any sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That rang or rippled in her halls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was one beyond her eastern walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By summer gardens girdled round.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Twas from a nightingale, and oh!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The song it sang hath never word!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweeter it seemed than Love's, first-heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or lutes in Aidenn murmuring low.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanzab"> +<span class="i0">Faint, as when drowsy winds awake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sisterhood of faery bells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It won reply from hidden dells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loyal to Echo for its sake....<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanzac"> +<span class="i0">I dreamt I slept, but cannot say<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How many dreamland seasons fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor what horizon of the dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave back my dream's uncertain day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But still beside the toiling sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I lay, and saw—for walls o'ergrown—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The city that was mine had known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time's sure and ancient treachery.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanzab"> +<span class="i0">Above her ramparts, broad as Tyre's,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The grasses' mounting army broke;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shadow of the sprawling oak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Usurpt the splendor of her fires.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanzac"> +<span class="i0">But o'er the fallen marbles pale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I heard, like elfin melodies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blown over from enchanted seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The music of the nightingale.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><span class="smcap">George Sterling.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="toc" id="toc"></a>THE STORIES</h2> + +<table summary="stories" cellspacing="10" cellpadding="0"> +<tr><td><a href="#CONCHA_ARGUELLO_SISTER_DOMINICA"><span class="smcap">Concha Argüello, Sister Dominica</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Gertrude Atherton</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_FORD_OF_CREVECOEUR"> +<span class="smcap">The Ford of Crèvecœur</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Mary Austin</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#A_CALIFORNIAN"> +A <span class="smcap">Californian</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Geraldine Bonner</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#GIDEONS_KNOCK"> +<span class="smcap">Gideon's Knock</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Mary Halleck Foote</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#A_YELLOW_MAN_AND_A_WHITE"> +A <span class="smcap">Yellow Man and a White</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Eleanor Gates</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_JUDGMENT_OF_MAN"> +<span class="smcap">The Judgment of Man</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by James Hopper</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_LEAGUE_OF_THE_OLD_MEN"> +<span class="smcap">The League of the Old Men</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Jack London</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#DOWN_THE_FLUME_WITH_THE_SNEATH_PIANO"> +<span class="smcap">Down the Flume with the Sneath Piano</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Bailey Millard</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_CONTUMACY_OF_SARAH_L_WALKER"> +<span class="smcap">The Contumacy of Sarah L. Walker</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Miriam Michelson</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BREAKING_THROUGH"> +<span class="smcap">Breaking Through</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by W. C. Morrow</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#A_LOST_STORY"> +A <span class="smcap">Lost Story</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Frank Norris</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#HANTU"> +<span class="smcap">Hantu</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Henry Milner Rideout</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#MISS_JUNO"> +<span class="smcap">Miss. Juno</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Charles Warren Stoddard</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#A_LITTLE_SAVAGE_GENTLEMAN"> +A <span class="smcap">Little Savage Gentleman</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Isobel Strong</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#LOVE_AND_ADVERTISING"> +<span class="smcap">Love and Advertising</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Richard Walton Tully</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_TEWANA"> +<span class="smcap">The Tewana</span></a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>by Herman Whitaker</i></span></td></tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>THE ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> + +<table summary="ills" cellspacing="10" cellpadding="2" style="margin-left: 25%;margin-right: 25%;"> +<tr><td><a href="#front">"The devil sit in Filon's eyes and laugh—laugh—some time he go away like a man at a window, but he come again. M'siu, he <i>live</i> there!"</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>from a painting by E. Almond Withrow</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#concha">"She was always very sweet, our Concha,<br />but there never was a time when you could take a liberty with her."</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>from a painting by Lillie V. O'Ryan</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#petal">"The petal of a plum blossom."</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>from a painting by Albertine Randall Wheelan</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#not">"Not twenty feet from me Miller sat upright in his canoe as if petrified."</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>from a painting by Merle Johnson</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#all">"All their ways lead to death."</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>from a painting by Maynard Dixon</i></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#dawn">"Dawn was flooding the east, and still the boy lurched and floundered on and on."</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>from a painting by Gordon Ross</i></span></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>WHEREFORE?</h3> + +<p><i>Wherefore this book of fiction by Californian writers? And why its +appeal otherwise than that of obvious esthetic and literary qualities? +They who read what follows will know.</i></p> + +<p><i>The fund, which the sale of this book is purposed to aid, was planned +by The Spinners soon after the eighteenth of April, 1906, and was +started with two hundred dollars from their treasury. To this, Mrs. +Gertrude Atherton added another two hundred dollars. Several women's +clubs and private individuals also generously responded, so that now +there is a thousand dollars to the credit of the fund. A bond has been +bought and the interest from it will be paid to Ina D. Coolbrith, the +poet, and first chosen beneficiary of the fund. The Spinners feel +assured that this book will meet with such a ready sale as to make +possible the purchase of several bonds, and so render the accruing +interest a steady source of aid to Miss. Coolbrith.</i></p> + +<p><i>All who have read and fallen under the charm of her "Songs from the +Golden Gate," or felt the beauty and tenderness of the verses "When the +Grass Shall Cover Me," will, without question, unite in making +"assurance doubly sure" to such end.</i></p> + +<p><i>From the days of the old</i> Overland Monthly, <i>when she worked side by +side with Bret Harte and Charles Warren Stoddard, to the present moment, +Miss. Coolbrith's name has formed a part of the literary history of San +Francisco.</i></p> + +<p><i>The eighteenth of April, 1906, and the night which followed it, left +her bereft of all literary, and other, treasures; but her poem bearing +the refrain, "Lost city of my love and my desire," rings with the old +genius, and expresses the feeling of many made desolate by the +destruction of the city which held their most cherished memories.</i></p> + +<p><i>When Miss. Coolbrith shall no longer need to be a beneficiary of the +fund, it is intended that it shall serve to aid some other writer, +artist or musician whose fortunes are at the ebb.</i></p> + +<p><i>To the writers, artists and publishers who have so heartily and +generously made this book possible, The Spinners return unmeasured +thanks.</i></p> + +<p><i>San Francisco, June 22, 1907.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="CONCHA_ARGUELLO_SISTER_DOMINICA" id="CONCHA_ARGUELLO_SISTER_DOMINICA"></a> +<a href="#toc">CONCHA<br />ARGÜELLO, SISTER<br />DOMINICA</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">GERTRUDE ATHERTON</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Dedicated To Carolina Ximéno</span><br /> +Written for <span class="smcap">The Spinners' Book of Fiction</span><br /><i>All Rights Reserved</i></p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/s.jpg" alt="S" /></span>ISTER +TERESA had wept bitterly for two days. The vanity for which she +did penance whenever her madonna loveliness, consummated by the white +robe and veil of her novitiate, tempted her to one of the little mirrors +in the pupil's dormitory, was powerless to check the blighting flow. +There had been moments when she had argued that her vanity had its +rights, for had it not played its part in weaning her from the +world?—that wicked world of San Francisco, whose very breath, +accompanying her family on their monthly visits to Benicia, made her +cross herself and pray that all good girls whom fate had stranded there +should find the peace and shelter of Saint Catherine of Siena. It was +true that before Sister Dominica toiled up Rincon Hill on that wonderful +day—here her sobs became so violent that Sister María Sal, praying +beside her with a face as swollen as her own, gave her a sharp poke in +the ribs, and she pressed her hands to her mouth lest she be marched +away. But her thoughts flowed on; she could pray no more. Sister +Dominica, with her romantic history and holy life, her halo of fame in +the young country, and her unconquerable beauty—she had never seen such +eyelashes, never, never!—<i>what</i> was she thinking of at such a time? +She had never believed that such divine radiance could emanate from any +mortal; never had dreamed that beauty and grace could be so enhanced by +a white robe and a black veil——Oh, well! Her mind was in a rebellious +mood; it had been in leash too long. And what of it for once in a way? +No ball dress she had ever seen in the gay disreputable little +city—where the good citizens hung the bad for want of law—was half as +becoming as the habit of the Dominican nun, and if it played a part in +weaning frivolous girls from the world, so much more to the credit of +Rome. God knew she had never regretted her flight up the bays, and even +had it not been for the perfidy of—she had forgotten his name; that at +least was dead!—she would have realized her vocation the moment Sister +Dominica sounded the call. When the famous nun, with that passionate +humility all her own, had implored her to renounce the world, protested +that her vocation was written in her face—she really looked like a +juvenile mater dolorosa, particularly when she rolled up her +eyes—eloquently demanded what alternative that hideous embryo of a city +could give her—that rude and noisy city that looked as if it had been +tossed together in a night after one of its periodical fires, where the +ill-made sidewalks tripped the unwary foot, or the winter mud was like a +swamp, where the alarm bell summoned the Vigilance Committee day and +night to protect or avenge, where a coarse and impertinent set of +adventurers stared at and followed an inoffensive nun who only left the +holy calm of the convent at the command of the Bishop to rescue brands +from the burning; then had Teresa, sick with the tragedy of youth, an +enchanting vision of secluded paths, where nuns—in white—walked with +downcast eyes and folded hands; of the daily ecstasy of prayer in the +convent chapel misty with incense.</p> + +<p>And in some inscrutable way Sister Dominica during that long +conversation, while Mrs. Grace and her other daughters dispensed egg-nog +in the parlor—it was New Year's Day—had made the young girl a part of +her very self, until Teresa indulged the fancy that without and within +she was a replica of that Concha Argüello of California's springtime; +won her heart so completely that she would have followed her not only +into the comfortable and incomparably situated convent of the saint of +Siena, but barefooted into that wilderness of Soledad where the Indians +still prayed for their lost "Beata." It was just eight months tonight +since she had taken her first vows, and she had been honestly aware that +there was no very clear line of demarcation in her fervent young mind +between her love of Sister Dominica and her love of God. Tonight, almost +prostrate before the coffin of the dead nun, she knew that so far at +least all the real passion of her youth had flowed in an undeflected +tide about the feet of that remote and exquisite being whose personal +charm alone had made a convent possible in the chaos that followed the +discovery of gold. All the novices, many of the older nuns, the pupils +invariably, worshipped Sister Dominica; whose saintliness without +austerity never chilled them, but whose tragic story and the impression +she made of already dwelling in a heaven of her own, notwithstanding +her sweet and consistent humanity, placed her on a pinnacle where any +display of affection would have been unseemly. Only once, after the +beautiful ceremony of taking the white veil was over, and Teresa's +senses were faint from incense and hunger, ecstasy and a new and +exquisite terror, Sister Dominica had led her to her cell and kissing +her lightly on the brow, exclaimed that she had never been happier in a +conquest for the Church against the vileness of the world. Then she had +dropped the conventional speech of her calling, and said with an +expression that made her look so young, so curiously virginal, that the +novice had held her breath: "Remember that here there is nothing to +interrupt the life of the imagination, nothing to change its course, +like the thousand conflicting currents that batter memory and character +to pieces in the world. In this monotonous round of duty and prayer the +mind is free, the heart remains ever young, the soul unspotted; so that +when——" She had paused, hesitated a moment, then abruptly left the +room, and Teresa had wept a torrent in her disappointment that this +first of California's heroines—whose place in history and romance was +assured—had not broken her reserve and told her all that story of many +versions. She had begged Sister María Sal—the sister of Luis Argüello's +first wife—to tell it her, but the old nun had reproved her sharply for +sinful curiosity and upon one occasion boxed her ears. But tonight she +might be in a softer mood, and Teresa resolved that when the last rites +were over she would make her talk of Concha Argüello.</p> + +<p>A few moments later she was lifted to her feet by a shaking but still +powerful arm.</p> + +<p>"Come!" whispered Sister María. "It is time to prepare. The others have +gone. It is singular that the oldest and the youngest should have loved +her best. Ay! Dios de mi alma! I never thought that Concha Argüello +would die. Grow old she never did, in spite of the faded husk. We will +look at her once more."</p> + +<p>The dead nun in her coffin lay in the little parlor where she had turned +so many wavering souls from fleeting to eternal joys. Her features, +wasted during years of delicate health, seemed to regain something of +their youth in the soft light of the candles. Or was it the long black +eyelashes that hid the hollows beneath the eyes?—or the faint +mysterious almost mocking smile? Had the spirit in its eternal youth +paused in its flight to stamp a last sharp impress upon the prostrate +clay? Never had she looked so virginal, and that had been one of the +most arresting qualities of her always remarkable appearance; but there +was something more—Teresa held her breath. Somehow, dead and in her +coffin, she looked less saintly than in life; although as pure and +sweet, there was less of heavenly peace on those marble features than of +some impassioned human hope. Teresa excitedly whispered her unruly +thoughts to Sister María, but instead of the expected reproof the old +nun lifted her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," she said. "Who knows?"</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>It was Christmas eve and all the inmates of the convent paused in their +sorrow to rejoice in the happy portent of the death and burial of one +whom they loyally believed to be no less entitled to beatification than +Catherine herself. Her miracles may not have been of the irreducible +protoplastic order, but they had been miracles to the practical +Californian mind, notwithstanding, and worthy of the attention of +consistory and Pope. Moreover, this was the season when all the vivacity +and gaiety of her youth had revived, and she made merry, not only for +the children left at the convent by their nomadic parents, but for all +the children of the town, whatever the faith of their somewhat anxious +elders.</p> + +<p>An hour after sundown they carried the bier on which her coffin rested +into the chapel. It was a solemn procession that none, taking part, was +likely to forget, and stirred the young hearts at least with an ecstatic +desire for a life as saintly as this that hardly had needed the crown of +death.</p> + +<p>Following the bier was the cross-bearer, holding the emblem so high it +was half lost in the shadows. Behind her were the young scholars dressed +in black, then the novices in their white robes and veils, carrying +lighted tapers to symbolize the eternal radiance that awaited the pure +in spirit. The nuns finished the procession that wound its way slowly +through the long ill-lighted corridors, chanting the litany of the dead. +From the chapel, at first almost inaudible, but waxing louder every +moment, came the same solemn monotonous chant; for the Bishop and his +assistants were already at the altar....</p> + +<p>Teresa, from the organ loft, looked eagerly down upon the beautiful +scene, in spite of the exaltation that filled her: her artistic sense +was the one individuality she possessed. The chapel was aglow with the +soft radiance of many wax candles. They stood in high candelabra against +the somber drapery on the walls, and there were at least a hundred about +the coffin on its high catafalque before the altar; the Argüellos were +as prodigal as of old. About the catafalque was an immense mound of +roses from the garden of the convent, and palms and pampas from the +ranch of Santiago Argüello in the south. The black-robed scholars knelt +on one side of the dead, the novices on the other, the relatives and +friends behind. But art had perfected itself in the gallery above the +lower end of the chapel. This also was draped with black which seemed to +absorb, then shed forth again the mystic brilliance of the candles; and +kneeling, well apart, were the nuns in their ivory white robes and black +veils, their banded softened features as composed and peaceful as if +their own reward had come.</p> + +<p>The Bishop and the priests read the Requiem Mass, the little organ +pealed the <i>De Profundis</i> as if inspired; and when the imperious +triumphant music of Handel followed, Teresa's fresh young soprano +seemed, to her excited imagination, to soar to the gates of heaven +itself. When she looked down again the lights were dim in the incense, +her senses swam in the pungent odor of spices and gum. The Bishop was +walking about the catafalque casting holy water with a brush against the +coffin above. He walked about a second time swinging the heavy copper +censer, then pronounced the <i>Requiescat in pace</i>, "dismissing," as we +find inscribed in the convent records, "a tired soul out of all the +storms of life into the divine tranquillity of death."</p> + +<p>The bier was again shouldered, the procession reformed, and marched, +still with lighted tapers and chanting softly, out into the cemetery of +the convent. It was a magnificent, clear night and as mild as spring. +Below the steep hill the little town of Benicia celebrated the eve of +Christmas with lights and noise. Beyond, the water sparkled like running +silver under the wide beams of the moon poised just above the peak of +Monte Diablo, the old volcano that towered high above this romantic and +beautiful country of water and tule lands, steep hillsides and canons, +rocky bluffs overhanging the straits. In spite of the faint discords +that rose from the town and the slow tolling of the convent bell, it was +a scene of lofty and primeval grandeur, a fit setting for the last +earthly scene of a woman whose lines had been cast in the wilderness, +but yet had found the calm and the strength and the peace of the old +mountain, with its dead and buried fires.</p> + +<p>The grave closed, the mourners returned to the convent, but not in +order. At the door Teresa felt her arm taken possession of by a strong +hand with which she had had more than one disconcerting encounter.</p> + +<p>"Let us walk," said Sister María Sal in her harsh but strong old voice. +"I have permission. I must talk of Concha tonight or I should burst. It +is not for nothing one keeps silent for years and years. I at least am +still human. And you loved her the best and have spoiled your pretty +face with weeping. You must not do that again, for the young love a +pretty nun and will follow her into the one true life on earth far +sooner than an ugly old phiz like mine."</p> + +<p>Sister María, indeed, retained not an index of the beauty with which +tradition accredited her youth. She was a stout unwieldy old woman with +a very red face covered half over with black down, and in the bright +moonlight Teresa could see the three long hairs that stood out straight +from a mole above her mouth and scratched the girls when she kissed +them. Tonight her nose was swollen and her eyes looked like appleseeds. +Teresa hastily composed her features and registered a vow that in her +old age she would look like Sister Dominica, not like that. She had +heard that Concha, too, had been frivolous in her youth, and had not she +herself a tragic bit of a story? True, her youthful love-tides had +turned betimes from the grave beside the Mission Dolores to the lovely +nun and the God of both, and she had heard that Doña Concha had proved +her fidelity to a wonderful Russian throughout many years before she +took the veil. Perhaps—who knew?—her more conformable pupil might have +restored the worthless to her heart before he was knifed in the full +light of day on Montgomery Street by one from whom he had won more than +thousands the night before; perhaps have consoled herself with another +less eccentric, had not Sister Dominica sought her at the right moment +and removed her from the temptations of the world. Well, never mind, she +could at least be a good nun and an amiable instructor of youth, and if +she never looked like a living saint she would grow soberer and nobler +with the years and take care that she grew not stout and red.</p> + +<p>For a time Sister María did not speak, but walked rapidly and heavily up +and down the path, dragging her companion with her and staring out at +the beauty of the night. But suddenly she slackened her pace and burst +into speech.</p> + +<p>"Ay yi! Ay de mi! To think that it is nearly half a century—forty-two +years to be precise—for will it not be 1858 in one more week?—since +Rezánov sailed out through what Frémont has called 'The Golden Gate'! +And forty-one in March since he died—not from the fall of a horse, as +Sir George Simpson (who had not much regard for the truth anyway, for he +gave a false picture of our Concha), and even Doctor Langsdorff, who +should have known better, wrote it, but worn out, worn out, after +terrible hardships, and a fever that devoured him inch by inch. And he +was so handsome when he left us! Dios de mi alma! never have I seen a +man like that. If I had I should not be here now, perhaps, so it is as +well. But never was I even engaged, and when permission came from Madrid +for the marriage of my sister Rafaella with Luis Argüello—he was an +officer and could not marry without a special license from the King, and +through some strange oversight he was six long years getting it—; well, +I lived with them and took care of the children until Rafaella—Ay yi! +what a good wife she made him, for he 'toed the mark,' as the Americans +say—; well, she died, and one of those days he married another; for +will not men be men? And Luis was a good man in spite of all, a fine +loyal clever man, who deserves the finest monument in the cemetery of +the Mission Dolores—as they call it now. The Americans have no respect +for anything and will not say San Francisco de Assisi, for it is too +long and they have time for nothing but the gold. Were it not a sin, +how I should hate them, for they have stolen our country from us—but +no, I will not; and, to be sure, if Rezánov had lived he would have had +it first, so what difference? Luis, at least, was spared. He died in +1830—and was the first Governor of Alta California after Mexico threw +off the yoke of Spain. He had power in full measure and went before +these upstart conquerors came to humble the rest of us into the dust. +Peace to his ashes—but perhaps you care nothing for this dear brother +of my youth, never heard of him before—such a giddy thing you were; +although at the last earthquake the point of his monument flew straight +into the side of the church and struck there, so you may have heard the +talk before they put it back in its place. It is of Sister Dominica you +think, but I think not only of her but of those old days—Ay, Dios de +mi! Who remembers that time but a few old women like myself?</p> + +<p>"Concha's father, Don José Dario Argüello, was Commandante of the +Presidio of San Francisco then; and there was nothing else to call San +Francisco but the Mission. Down at Yerba Buena, where the Americans +flaunt themselves, there was but a Battery that could not give even a +dance. But we had dances at the Presidio; day and night the guitar +tinkled and the fiddles scraped; for what did we know of care, or old +age, or convents or death? I was many years younger than Rafaella and +did not go to the grand balls, but to the little dances, yes, many and +many. When the Russians came—it was in 1806—I saw them every day, and +one night danced with Rezánov himself. He was so gay—ay de mi! I +remember he swung me quite off my feet and made as if he would throw me +in the air. I was angry that he should treat me like a baby, and then he +begged me so humbly to forgive him, although his eyes laughed, that of +course I did. He had come down from Sitka to try and arrange for a +treaty with the Spanish government that the poor men in the employ of +the Russian-American Company might have breadstuffs to eat and not die +of scurvy, nor toil through the long winter with no flesh on their +bones. He brought a cargo with him to exchange for our corn and flour +meanwhile. We had never seen any one so handsome and so grand and he +turned all our heads, but he had a hard time with the Governor and Don +José—there are no such Californians now or the Americans would never +have got us—and it took all his diplomacy and all the help Concha and +the priests could give him before he got his way, for there was a law +against trading with foreigners. It was only when he and Concha became +engaged that Governor Arillaga gave in—how I pick up vulgar expressions +from these American pupils, I who should reform them! And did I not +stand Ellen O'Reilley in the corner yesterday for calling San Francisco +'Frisco'?—<i>San Francisco de Assisi!</i> But all the saints have fled from +California.</p> + +<p>"Where was I? Forgive an old woman's rambling, but I have not told +stories since Rafaella's children grew up, and that was many years ago. +What do I talk here? You know. And I that used to love to talk. Ay yi! +But no one can say that I am not a good nun. Bishop Alemany has said it +and no one knows better than he, the holy man. But for him I might be +sitting all day on a corridor in the south sunning myself like an old +crocodile, for we had no convent till he came eight years ago; and +perhaps but for Concha, whom I always imitated, I might have a dozen +brats of my own, for I was pretty and had my wooers and might have been +persuaded. And God knows, since I must have the care of children, I +prefer they should be mothered by some one else for then I have always +the hope to be rid of them the sooner. Well, well! I am not a saint yet, +and when I go to heaven I suppose Concha will still shake her finger at +me with a smile. Not that she was ever self-righteous, our Concha. Not a +bit of it. Only after that long and terrible waiting she just naturally +became a saint. Some are made that way and some are not. That is all.</p> + +<p>"Did I tell you about the two young lieutenants that came with Baron +Rezánov? Davidov and Khostov their names were. Well, well, I shall tell +all tonight. I was but fourteen, but what will you? Was I not, then, +Spanish? It was Davidov. He always left the older people to romp with +the children, although I think there was a flame in his heart for +Concha. Perhaps had I been older—who knows? Do not look at my whiskers! +That was forty-two years ago. Well, I dreamed of the fair kind young +Russian for many a night after he left, and when my time came to marry I +would look at none of the caballeros, but nursed Rafaella's babies and +thought my thoughts. And then—in 1815 I think it was—the good—and +ugly—Dr. Langsdorff sent Luis a copy of his book—he had been surgeon +to his excellency—and alas! it told of the terrible end of both those +gay kind young men. They were always too fond of brandy; we knew that, +but we never—well, hear me! One night not so many years after they +sailed away from California, they met Dr. Langsdorff and another friend +of their American days, Captain D'Wolf, by appointment in St. Petersburg +for a grand reunion. They were all so happy! Perhaps it was that made +them too much 'celebrate,' as the Americans say in their dialect. Well, +alas! they celebrated until four in the morning, and then my two dear +young Russians—for I loved Khostov as a sister, so devoted he was to my +friend—well, they started—on foot—for home, and that was on the other +side of the Neva. They had almost crossed the bridge when they suddenly +took it into their heads that they wanted to see their friends again, +and started back. Alas, in the middle of the bridge was a section that +opened to permit the passage of boats with tall masts. The night was +dark and stormy. The bridge was open. They did not see it. The river was +roaring and racing like a flood. A sailor saw them fall, and then strike +back for the coming boat. Then he saw them no more. That was the last of +my poor friends.</p> + +<p>"And we had all been so gay, so gay! For how could we know? All the +Russians said that never had they seen a people so light-hearted and +frolicking as the Californians, so hospitable, so like one great family. +And we were, we were. But you know of that time. Was not your mother +Conchitita Castro, if she did marry an American and has not taught you +ten words of Spanish? It is of Concha you would hear, and I ramble. +Well, who knows? perhaps I hesitate. Rezánov was of the Greek Church. No +priest in California would have married them even had Don José—<i>el +santo</i> we called him—given his consent. It was for that reason Rezánov +went to obtain a dispensation from His Holiness and a license from the +King of Spain. Concha knew that he could not return for two years or +nearly that, nor even send her a letter; for why should ships come down +from Sitka until the treaty was signed? Only Rezánov could get what he +wanted, law or no law. And then too our Governor had forbidden the +British and Bostonians—so we called the Americans in those days—to +enter our ports. This Concha knew, and when one knows one can think in +storeys, as it were, and put the last at the top. It is not so bad as +the hope that makes the heart thump every morning and the eyes turn into +fountains at night. Dios! To think that I should ever have shed a tear +over a man. Chinchosas, all of them. However—I think Concha, who was +never quite as others, knew deep down in her heart that he would not +come back, that it was all too good to be true. Never was a man seen as +handsome as that one, and so clever—a touch of the devil in his +cleverness, but that may have been because he was a Russian. I know not. +And to be a great lady in St. Petersburg, and later—who can +tell?—vice-Tsarina of all this part of the world! No, it could not be. +It was a fairy tale. I only wonder that the bare possibility came into +the life of any woman,—and that a maiden of New Spain, in an unknown +corner, that might as well have been on Venus or Mars.</p> + +<p>"But Concha had character. She was not one to go into a +decline—although I am woman enough to know that her pillow was wet many +nights; and besides she lost the freshness of her beauty. She was often +as gay as ever, but she cared less and less for the dance, and found +more to do at home. Don José was made Commandante of the Santa Barbara +Company that same year, and it was well for her to be in a place where +there were no memories of Rezánov. But late in the following year as the +time approached for his return, or news of him, she could not contain +her impatience. We all saw it—I was visiting the Pachecos in the +Presidio of Santa Barbara. She grew so thin. Her eyes were never still. +We knew. And then!—how many times she climbed to the fortress—it was +on that high bluff beside the channel—and stared out to sea—when 1808 +and the Spring had come—for hours together: Rezánov was to return by +way of Mexico. Then, when I went back to San Francisco soon after, she +went with me, and again she would watch the sea from the summit of Lone +Mountain, as we call it now. In spite of her reason she hoped, I +suppose; for that is the way of women. Or perhaps she only longed for +the word from Sitka that would tell her the worst and have done with it. +Who knows? She never said, and we dared not speak of it. She was always +very sweet, our Concha, but there never was a time when you could take a +liberty with her.</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center n smcap"><a name="concha" id="concha"></a><img src="images/image016.jpg" alt="image" width="40%" /><br /> +"She was always very sweet<br />our Concha, but there never was a time when<br /> +you could take a liberty<br /> with her."<br /><br /> +From a Painting by Lillie V. O'Ryan.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>"No ship came, but something else did—an earthquake! Ay yi, what an +earthquake that was! Not a <i>temblor</i> but a <i>terremoto</i>. The whole +Presidio came down. I do not know now how we saved all the babies, +but we always flew to the open with a baby under each arm the moment an +earthquake began, and in the first seconds even this was not so bad. The +wall about the Presidio was fourteen feet high and seven feet thick and +there were solid trunks of trees crossed inside the adobe. It looked +like a heap of dirt, nothing more. Luis was riding up from the Battery +of Yerba Buena and his horse was flung down and he saw the sand-dunes +heaving toward him like waves in a storm and shiver like quicksilver. +And there was a roar as if the earth had dropped and the sea gone after. +Ay California! And to think that when Luis wrote a bitter letter to +Governor Arillaga in Monterey, the old Mexican wrote back that he had +felt earthquakes himself and sent him a box of dates for consolation! +Well—we slept on the ground for two months and cooked out-of-doors, for +we would not go even into the Mission—which had not suffered—until the +earthquakes were over; and if the worst comes first there are plenty +after—and, somehow, harder to bear. Perhaps to Concha that terrible +time was a God-send, for she thought no more of Rezánov for a while. If +the earthquake does not swallow your body it swallows your little self. +You are a flea. Just that and nothing more.</p> + +<p>"But after a time all was quiet again; the houses were rebuilt and +Concha went back to Santa Barbara. By that time she knew that Rezánov +would never come, although it was several years before she had a word. +Such stories have been told that she did not know of his death for +thirty years! Did not Baránhov, Chief-manager of the Russian-Alaskan +Company up there at Sitka, send Koskov—that name was so like!—to +Bodega Bay in 1812, and would he fail to send such news with him? Was +not Dr. Langsdorff's book published in 1814? Did not Kotzbue, who was on +his excellency's staff during the embassy to Japan, come to us in 1816, +and did we not talk with him every day for a month? Did not Rezánov's +death spoil all Russia's plans in this part of the world—perhaps, who +knows? alter the course of her history? It is likely we were long +without hearing the talk of the North! Such nonsense! Yes, she knew it +soon enough, but as that good Padre Abella once said to us, she had the +making of the saint and the martyr in her, and even when she could hope +no more she did not die, nor marry some one else, nor wither up and spit +at the world. Long before the news came, indeed, she carried out a plan +she had conceived, so Padre Abella told us, even while Rezánov was yet +here. There were no convents in California in those days—you may know +what a stranded handful we were—but she joined the Tertiary or Third +Order of Franciscans, and wore always the grey habit, the girdle, and +the cross. She went among the Indians christianizing them, remaining a +long while at Soledad, a bleak and cheerless place, where she was also a +great solace to the wives of the soldiers and settlers, whose children +she taught. The Indians called her 'La Beata,' and by that name she was +known in all California until she took the veil, and that was more than +forty years later. And she was worshipped, no less. So beautiful she +was, so humble, so sweet, and at the same time so practical; she had +what the Americans call 'hard sense,' and something of Rezánov's own +way of managing people. When she made up her mind to bring a sinner or a +savage into the Church she did it. You know.</p> + +<p>"But do not think she had her way in other things without a struggle. +Don José and Doña Ignacia—her mother—permitted her to enter upon the +religious life, for they understood; and Luis and Santiago made no +protest either, for they understood also and had loved Rezánov. But the +rest of her family, the relations, the friends, the young men—the +caballeros! They went in a body you might say to Don José and demanded +that Concha, the most beautiful and fascinating and clever girl in New +Spain, should come back to the world where she belonged,—be given in +marriage. But Concha had always ruled Don José, and all the protests +went to the winds. And William Sturgis—the young Bostonian who lived +with us for so many years? I have not told you of him, and your mother +was too young to remember. Well, never mind. He would have taken Concha +from California, given her just a little of what she would have had as +the wife of Rezánov—not in himself; he was as ugly as my whiskers; but +enough of the great world to satisfy many women, and no one could deny +that he was good and very clever. But to Concha he was a brother—no +more. Perhaps she did not even take the trouble to refuse him. It was a +way she had. After a while he went home to Boston and died of the +climate. I was very sorry. He was one of us.</p> + +<p>"And her intellect? Concha put it to sleep forever. She never read +another book of travel, of history, biography, memoirs, essays, +poetry—romance she had never read, and although some novels came to +California in time she never opened them. It was peace she wanted, not +the growing mind and the roving imagination. She brought her +conversation down to the level of the humblest, and perhaps—who +knows?—her thoughts. At all events, although the time came when she +smiled again, and was often gay when we were all together in the +family—particularly with the children, who came very fast, of +course—well, she was then another Concha, not that brilliant +dissatisfied ambitious girl we had all known, who had thought the +greatest gentleman from the Viceroy's court not good enough to throw +gold at her feet when she danced El Son.</p> + +<p>"There were changes in her life. In 1814 Don José was made Gobernador +Propietario of Lower California. He took all of his unmarried children +with him, and Concha thought it her duty to go. They lived in Loreto +until 1821. But Concha never ceased to pray that she might return to +California—we never looked upon that withered tongue of Mexico as +California; and when Don José died soon after his resignation, and her +mother went to live with her married daughters, Concha returned with the +greatest happiness she had known, I think, since Rezánov went. Was not +California all that was left her?</p> + +<p>"She lived in Santa Barbara for many years, in the house of Don José de +la Guerra—in that end room of the east wing. She had many relations, it +is true, but Concha was always human and liked relations better when she +was not surrounded by them. Although she never joined in any of the +festivities of that gay time she was often with the Guerra family and +seemed happy enough to take up her old position as Beata among the +Indians and children, until they built a school for her in Monterey. How +we used to wonder if she ever thought of Rezánov any more. From the day +the two years were over she never mentioned his name, and everybody +respected her reserve, even her parents. And she grew more and more +reserved with the years, never speaking of herself at all, except just +after her return from Mexico. But somehow we knew. And did not the very +life she had chosen express it? Even the Church may not reach the secret +places of the soul, and who knows what heaven she may have found in +hers? And now? I think purgatory is not for Concha, and he was not bad +as men go, and has had time to do his penance. It is true the Church +tells us there is no marrying in heaven—but, well, perhaps there is a +union for mated spirits of which the Church knows nothing. You saw her +expression in her coffin.</p> + +<p>"Well! The time arrived when we had a convent. Bishop Alemany came in +1850, and in the first sermon he preached in Santa Barbara—I think it +was his first in California—he announced that he wished to found a +convent. He was a Dominican, but one order was as another to Concha; she +had never been narrow in anything. As soon as the service was over, +before he had time to leave the church, she went to him and asked to be +the first to join. He was glad enough, for he knew of her and that no +one could fill his convent as rapidly as she. Therefore was she the +first nun, the first to take holy vows, in our California. For a +little, the convent was in the old Hartnell house in Monterey, but Don +Manuel Ximéno had built a great hotel while believing, with all the +rest, that Monterey would be the capital of the new California as of the +old, and he was glad to sell it to the Bishop. We were delighted—of +course I followed when Concha told me it was my vocation—that the +Americans preferred Yerba Buena.</p> + +<p>"Concha took her first vows in April, soon after the Bishop's arrival, +choosing the name Sister María, Dominica. On the 13th of April 1852 she +took the black veil and perpetual vows. Of course the convent had a +school at once. Concha's school had been a convent of a sort and the +Bishop merely took it over. All the flower of California have been +educated by Concha Argüello, including Chonita Estenega who is so great +a lady in Mexico today. Two years later we came here, and here we shall +stay, no doubt. I think Concha loved Benicia better than any part of +California she had known, for it was still California without too +piercing reminders of the past: life at the other Presidios and Missions +was but the counterpart of our San Francisco, and here the priests and +military had never come. In this beautiful wild spot where the elk and +the antelope and the deer run about like rabbits, and you meet a bear if +you go too far—Holy Mary!—where she went sometimes in a boat among the +tules on the river, and where one may believe the moon lives in a silver +lake in the old crater of Monte Diablo—Ay, it was different enough and +might bring peace to any heart. What she must have suffered for years +in those familiar scenes! But she never told. And now she lies here +under her little cross and he in Krasnoiarsk—under a stone shaped like +an altar, they say. Well! who knows? That is all. I go in now; my old +bones ache with the night damp. But my mind is lighter, although never I +shall speak of this again. And do you not think of it any more. +Curiosity and the world and such nonsense as love and romance are not +for us. Go to bed at once and tie a stocking round your throat that you +have not a frog in it tomorrow morning when you sing 'Glory be to God on +High.' <i>Buen Dias!</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="THE_FORD_OF_CREVECOEUR" id="THE_FORD_OF_CREVECOEUR"></a><a href="#toc">THE FORD OF<br />CRÈVECŒUR</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">MARY AUSTIN</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>Out West</i> by permission.</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/y.jpg" alt="Y" /></span>ES. I understand; you are M'siu the Notary, M'siu the Sheriff has told +me. You are come to hear how by the help of God I have killed Filon +Geraud at the ford of Crèvecœur. By the help of God, yes. Think you if +the devil had a hand in it, he would not have helped Filon? For he was +the devil's own, was Filon. He was big, he was beautiful, he had a +way—but always there was the devil's mark. I see that the first time +ever I knew him at Agua Caliente. The devil sit in Filon's eyes and +laugh—laugh—some time he go away like a man at a window, but he come +again. M'siu, he <i>live</i> there! And Filon, he know that I see, so he make +like he not care; but I think he care a little, else why he make for +torment me all the time? Ever since I see him at that shearing at Agua +Caliente eight, ten year gone, he not like for let me be. I have been +the best shearer in that shed, snip—snip—quick, clean. Ah, it is +beautiful! All the sheepmen like for have me shear their sheep. Filon is +new man at that shearing, Lebecque is just hire him then; but yes, +M'siu, to see him walk about that Agua Caliente you think he own all +those sheep, all that range. Ah—he had a way! Pretty soon that day +Filon is hearing all sheepmen say that Raoul is the best shearer; then +he come lean on the rail by my shed and laugh softly like he talk with +himself, and say, "See the little man; see him shear." But me, I can no +more. The shears turn in my hand so I make my sheep all bleed same like +one butcher. Then I look up and see the devil in Filon Geraud's eye. It +is always so after that, all those years until I kill Filon. If I make a +little game of poker with other shepherds then he walks along and say:</p> + +<p>"Ah, you, Raoul, you is one sharp fellow. I not like for play with you." +Then is my play all gone bad.</p> + +<p>But if Filon play, then he say, "Come, you little man, and bring me the +good luck."</p> + +<p>It is so, M'siu! If I go stand by that game, Filon is win, win all the +time. That is because of the devil. And if there are women—no, M'siu, +there was never <i>one</i> woman. What would a shepherd, whose work is always +toward the hills, do with a woman? Is it to plant a vineyard that others +may drink wine? Ah, non! But me, at shearings and at Tres Piños where we +pay the tax, there I like to talk to pretty girl same as other +shepherds, then Filon come make like he one gran' friend. All the time +he make say the compliments, he make me one mock. His eyes they laugh +always, that make women like to do what he say. But me, I have no +chance.</p> + +<p>It is so, M'siu, when I go out with my sheep. This is my trail—I go out +after the shearing through the Cañada de las Viñas, then across the +Little Antelope, while the grass is quick. After that I go up toward the +hills of Olancho, where I keep one month; there is much good feed and +no man comes. Also then I wait at Tres Piños for the sheriff that I pay +the tax. <i>Sacre</i>! it is a hard one, that tax! After that I am free of +the Sierras, what you call <i>Nieve</i>—snowy. Well I know that country. I +go about with my sheep and seek my meadows—<i>mine</i>, M'siu, that I have +climbed the great mountains to spy out among the pines, that I have +found by the grace of God, and my own wit: La Crevasse, Moultrie, +Bighorn, Angostura. Also, I go by other meadows where other shepherds +feed one month with another; but these <i>these</i> are all <i>mine</i>. I go +about and come again when the feed is grown.</p> + +<p>M'siu, it is hard to believe, but it is so—Filon finds my meadows one +by one. One year I come by La Crevasse—there is nothing there; I go on +to Moultrie—here is the grass eaten to the roots, and the little pines +have no tops; at Bighorn is the fresh litter of a flock. I think maybe +my sheep go hungry that summer. So I come to Angostura. There is Filon. +He laugh. Then it come into my mind that one day I goin' kill that Filon +Geraud. By the help of God. Yes. For he is big that Filon, he is strong; +and me, M'siu, I am as God made me.</p> + +<p>So always, where I go on the range there is Filon; if I think to change +my trail, he change also his. If I have good luck, Filon has better. If +to him is the misfortune—ah—you shall hear.</p> + +<p>One year Gabriel Lausanne tell me that Filon is lose all his lambs in +the Santa Ana. You know that Santa Ana, M'siu? It is one mighty wind. It +comes up small, very far away, one little dust like the clouds, creep, +creep close by the land. It lies down along the sand; you think it is +done? Eh, it is one liar, that Santa Ana. It rise up again, it is pale +gold, it seek the sky. That sky is all wide, clean, no speck. Ah, it +knows, that sky; it will have nothing lying about when the Santa Ana +comes. It is hot then, you have the smell of the earth in your nostrils. +<i>That</i>, M'siu, is the Santa Ana. It is pale dust and the great push of +the wind. The sand bites, there is no seeing the flock's length. They +huddle, and the lambs are smothered; they scatter, and the dogs can +nothing make. If it blow one day, you thank God; if it blow two days, +then is sheepman goin' to lose his sheep. When Gabriel tell me that +about Filon, I think he deserve all that. What you think, M'siu? That +same night the water of Tinpah rise in his banks afar off by the hills +where there is rain. It comes roaring down the wash where I make my +camp, for you understand at that time of year there should be no water +in the wash of Tinpah, but it come in the night and carry away one-half +of my sheep. Eh, how you make that, M'siu; is it the devil or no?</p> + +<p>Well, it go like this eight, ten year; then it come last summer, and I +meet Filon at the ford of Crèvecœur. That is the water that comes down +eastward from Mineral Mountain between Olancho and Sentinel Rock. It is +what you call Mineral Creek, but the French shepherds call it +Crèvecœur. For why; it is a most swift and wide water; it goes darkly +between earthy banks upon which it gnaws. It has hot springs which come +up in it without reason, so that there is no safe crossing at any time. +Its sands are quick; what they take, they take wholly with the life in +it, and after a little they spew it out again. And, look you, it makes +no singing, this water of Crèvecœur. Twenty years have I kept sheep +between Red Butte and the Temblor Hills, and I say this. Make no fear of +singing water, for it goes not too deeply but securely on a rocky +bottom; such a one you may trust. But this silent one, that is hot or +cold, deep or shallow, and has never its banks the same one season with +another, this you may not trust, M'siu. And to get sheep across +it—ah—it breaks the heart, this Crèvecœur.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, there is one place where a great rock runs slantwise of +the stream, but under it, so that the water goes shallowly with a +whisper, ah, so fast, and below it is a pool. Here on the rocks the +shepherds make pine logs to lie with stones so that the sheep cross +over. Every year the water carries the logs away and the shepherds build +again, and there is no shepherd goes by that water but lose some sheep. +Therefore, they call it the ford of Crèvecœur [Break-heart].</p> + +<p>Well, I have been about by the meadow of Angostura when it come last +July, and there I see Narcisse Duplin. He is tell me the feed is good +about Sentinel Rock, so I think me to go back by the way of Crèvecœur. +There is pine wood all about eastward from that place. It is all shadow +there at midday and has a weary sound. Me, I like it not, that pine +wood, so I push the flock and am very glad when I hear toward the ford +the bark of dogs and the broken sound of bells. I think there is other +shepherd that make talk with me. But me, M'siu, <i>sacre! damn!</i> when I +come out by the ford there is Filon Geraud. He has come up one side +Crèvecœur, with his flock, as I have come up the other. He laugh.</p> + +<p>"Hillo, Raoul," say Filon, "will you cross?"</p> + +<p>"I will cross," say I.</p> + +<p>"After me," say Filon.</p> + +<p>"Before," say I.</p> + +<p>M'siu does not know about sheep? Ah, non. It is so that the sheep is +most scare of all beasts about water. Never so little a stream will he +cross, but if the dogs compel him. It is the great trouble of shepherds +to get the flock across the waters that go in and about the Sierras. For +that it is the custom to have two, three goats with the flocks to go +first across the water, then they will follow. But here at Crèvecœur it +is bad crossing any way you go; also that day it is already afternoon. +Therefore I stand at one side that ford and make talk with Filon at the +other about who goes first. Then my goat which leads my flock come push +by me and I stand on that log while we talk. He is one smart goat.</p> + +<p>"Eh, Raoul, let the goats decide," cries Filon, and to that I have +agree. Filon push his goat on the log, he is one great black one that is +call Diable—I ask you is that a name for a goat? I have call mine Noé. +So they two walk on that log very still; for they see what they have to +do. Then they push with the head, Diable and Noé, till that log it rock +in the water; Filon is cry to his goat and I to mine. Then because of +that water one goat slip on the log, and the other is push so hard that +he cannot stop; over they go into the pool of swift water, over and over +until they come to the shallows; then they find their feet and come up, +each on his own side. They will not care to push with the heads again at +that time. Filon he walk out on the log to me, and I walk to him.</p> + +<p>"My goat have won the ford," says he.</p> + +<p>"Your goat cannot keep what he wins."</p> + +<p>"But I can," say Filon. Then he look at me with his eyes like—like I +have told you, M'siu.</p> + +<p>"Raoul," he say, "you is one little man."</p> + +<p>With that I remember me all the wrong I have had from this one.</p> + +<p>"Go you after your goat, Filon Geraud," say I.</p> + +<p>With that I put my staff behind his foot, so, M'siu, and send him into +the water, splash! He come to his feet presently in the pool with the +water all in his hair and his eyes, and the stream run strong and dark +against his middle.</p> + +<p>"Hey, you, Raoul, what for you do that?" he say, but also he laugh. "Ah, +ha, little man, you have the joke this time."</p> + +<p>M'siu, that laugh stop on his face like it been freeze, his mouth is +open, his eyes curl up. It is terrible, that dead laugh in the midst of +the black water that run down from his hair.</p> + +<p>"Raoul," he say, "<i>the sand is quick</i>!"</p> + +<p>Then he take one step, and I hear the sand suck. I see Filon shiver like +a reed in the swift water.</p> + +<p>"<i>My God</i>," he say, "<i>the sand is quick</i>!"</p> + +<p>M'siu, I do not know how it is with me. When I throw Filon in the pool, +I have not known it is quick-sand; but when I hear that, I think I am +glad. I kneel down by that log in the ford and watch Filon. He speak to +me very quiet:</p> + +<p>"You must get a rope and make fast to that pine and throw the end to me. +There is a rope in my pack."</p> + +<p>"Yes," say I, "there is a rope."</p> + +<p>So I take my flocks across the ford, since Filon is in the water, and +take all those silly ones toward La Crevasse, and after I think about +that business. Three days after, I meet P'tee Pete. I tell him I find +the sheep of Filon in the pine wood below Sentinel Rock. Pete, he say +that therefore Filon is come to some hurt, and that he look for him. +That make me scare lest he should look by the ford of Crèvecœur. So +after that, five or six days, when Narcisse Duplin is come up with me, I +tell him Filon is gone to Sacramento where his money is; therefore I +keep care of his sheep. That is a better tale—eh, M'siu,—for I have to +say something. Every shepherd in that range is know those sheep of +Filon. All this time I think me to take the sheep to Pierre Jullien in +the meadow of Black Mountain. He is not much, that Pierre. If I tell him +it is one gift from <i>Le bon Dieu</i>, that is explain enough for Pierre +Jullien. Then I will be quit of the trouble of Filon Geraud.</p> + +<p>So, M'siu, would it have been, but for that dog Helène. That is Filon's +she-dog that he raise from a pup. She is—she is <i>une femme</i>, that dog! +All that first night when we come away from the ford, she cry, cry in +her throat all through the dark, and in the light she look at me with +her eyes, so to say:</p> + +<p>"I know, Raoul! I know what is under the water of Crèvecœur." M'siu, is +a man to stand that from a dog? So the next night I beat her, and in the +morning she is gone. I think me the good luck to get rid of her. That +Helène! M'siu, what you think she do? She have gone back to look in the +water for Filon. There she stay, and all sheepmen when they pass that +way see that she is a good sheepdog, and that she is much hungry; so +they wonder that she will not leave off to look and go with them. After +while all people in those parts is been talkin' about that dog of +Filon's that look so keen in the water of Crèvecœur. Mebbe four, five +weeks after that I have killed Filon, one goes riding by that place and +sees Helène make mourn by the waterside over something that stick in the +sand. It is Filon. Yes. That quick-sand have spit him out again. So you +say; but me, I think it is the devil.</p> + +<p>For the rest the sheriff has told you. Here they have brought me, and +there is much talk. Of that I am weary, but for this I tell you all how +it is about Filon; M'siu, I would not hang. Look you, so long as I stay +in this life I am quit of that man, but if I die—there is Filon. So +will he do unto me all that I did at the ford of Crèvecœur, and more; +for he is a bad one, Filon. Therefore it is as I tell you, M'siu, I, +Raoul. By the help of God. Yes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="A_CALIFORNIAN" id="A_CALIFORNIAN"></a><a href="#toc">A CALIFORNIAN</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">GERALDINE BONNER</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">From <i>Harper's Magazine</i> <i>Copyright</i>, 1905, by Harper and Brothers</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/i.jpg" alt="I" /></span>T WAS nearly ten o'clock when Jack Faraday ascended the steps of Madame +Delmonti's bow-windowed mansion and pressed the electric bell. He was a +little out of breath and nervous, for, being young and a stranger to San +Francisco, and almost a stranger to Madame Delmonti, he did not exactly +know at what hour his hostess's <i>conversazione</i> might begin, and had +upon him the young man's violent dread of being conspicuously early or +conspicuously late.</p> + +<p>It did not seem that he was either. As he stood in the doorway and +surveyed the field, he felt, with a little rising breath of relief, that +no one appeared to take especial notice of him. Madame Delmonti's rooms +were lit with a great blaze of gas, which, thrown back from many long +mirrors and the gold mountings of a quantity of furniture and picture +frames, made an effect of dazzling yellow brightness, as brilliantly +glittering as the transformation scene of a pantomime.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the glare Madame Delmonti's company had disposed +themselves in a circle, which had some difficulty in accommodating +itself to the long narrow shape of the drawing-room. Now and then an +obstinate sofa or extra large plush-covered arm-chair broke the +harmonious curve of the circle, and its occupant looked furtively ill at +ease, as if she felt the embarrassment of her position in not conforming +to the general harmony of the curving line.</p> + +<p>The eyes of the circle were fixed on a figure at the piano, near the end +of the room—a tall dark Jewess in a brown dress and wide hat, who was +singing with that peculiar vibrant richness of tone that is so often +heard in the voices of the Californian Jewesses. She was perfectly +self-possessed, and her velvet eyes, as her impassioned voice rose a +little, rested on Jack Faraday with a cheerful but not very lively +interest. Then they swept past him to where on a sofa, quite out of the +circle, two women sat listening.</p> + +<p>One was a young girl, large, well-dressed, and exceedingly handsome; the +other a peaked lady, passée and thin, with her hair bleached to a canary +yellow. The Jewess, still singing, smiled at them, and the girl gave +back a lazy smile in return. Then as the song came to a deep and mellow +close, Madame Delmonti, with a delicate rustling of silk brushing +against silk, swept across the room and greeted her guest.</p> + +<p>Madame Delmonti was an American, very rich, a good deal made up, but +still pretty, and extremely well preserved. Signor Delmonti, an Italian +baritone, whom she had married, and supported ever since, was useful +about the house, as he now proved by standing at a little table and +ladling punch into small glasses, which were distributed among the +guests by the two little Delmonti girls in green silk frocks. Madame +Delmonti, with her rouged cheeks and merry grey eyes, as full of sparkle +as they had been twenty years ago, was very cordial to her guest, asking +him, as they stood in the doorway, whom he would best like to meet.</p> + +<p>"Maud Levy, who has been singing," she said, "is one of the belles in +Hebrew society. She has a fine voice. You have no objection, Mr. +Faraday, to knowing Jews?"</p> + +<p>Faraday hastily disclaimed all race prejudices, and she continued, +discreetly designating the ladies on the sofa:</p> + +<p>"There are two delightful girls. Mrs. Peck, the blonde, is the society +writer for the <i>Morning Trumpet</i>. She is an elegant woman of a very fine +Southern family, but she has had misfortunes. Her marriage was unhappy. +She and Peck are separated now, and she supports herself and her two +children. There was no hope of getting alimony out of that man."</p> + +<p>"And that is Genevieve Ryan beside her," Madame Delmonti went on. "I +think you'd like Genevieve. She's a grand girl. Her father, you know, is +Barney Ryan, one of our millionaires. He made his money in a quick turn +in Con. Virginia, but before that he used to drive the Marysville coach, +and he was once a miner. He's crazy about Genevieve and gives her five +hundred a month to dress on. I'm sure you'll get on very well together. +She's such a refined, pleasant girl"——and Madame Delmonti, chattering +her praises of Barney Ryan's handsome daughter, conducted the stranger +to the shrine.</p> + +<p>Miss. Genevieve smiled upon him, much as she had upon the singer, and +brushing aside her skirts of changeable green and heliotrope silk, +showed him a little golden-legged chair beside her. Mrs. Peck and Madame +Delmonti conversed with unusual insight and knowledge on the singing of +Maud Levy, and Faraday was left to conduct the conversation with the +heiress of Barney Ryan.</p> + +<p>She was a large, splendid-looking girl, very much corseted, with an +ivory-tinted skin, eyes as clear as a young child's and smooth freshly +red lips. She was a good deal powdered on the bridge of her nose, and +her rich hair was slightly tinted with some reddish dye. She was a +picture of health and material well being. Her perfectly fitting clothes +sat with wrinkleless exactitude over a figure which in its generous +breadth and finely curved outline might have compared with that of the +Venus of Milo. She let her eyes, shadowed slightly by the white lace +edge of her large hat, whereon two pink roses trembled on large stalks, +dwell upon Faraday with a curious and frank interest entirely devoid of +coquetry. Her manner, almost boyish in its simple directness, showed the +same absence of this feminine trait. While she looked like a goddess +dressed by Worth, she seemed merely a good-natured, phlegmatic girl just +emerging from her teens.</p> + +<p>Faraday had made the first commonplaces of conversation, when she asked, +eyeing him closely, "Do you like it out here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, immensely," he responded, politely. "It's such a fine climate."</p> + +<p>"It is a good climate," admitted Miss. Ryan, with unenthusiastic +acquiescence; "but we are not so proud of that as we are of the good +looks of the Californian women. Don't you think the women are handsome?"</p> + +<p>Faraday looked into her clear and earnest eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh splendid," he answered, "especially their eyes."</p> + +<p>Miss. Ryan appeared to demur to this commendation. "It's generally said +by strangers that their figures are unusually handsome. Do you think +they are?"</p> + +<p>Faraday agreed to this too.</p> + +<p>"The girls in the East," said Miss. Ryan, sitting upright with a +creaking sound, and drawing her gloves through one satin-smooth, +bejeweled hand, "are very thin, aren't they? Here, I sometimes +think"—she raised her eyes to his in deep and somewhat anxious +query—"that they are too fat?"</p> + +<p>Faraday gallantly scouted the idea. He said the California woman was a +goddess. For the first time in the interview Miss. Ryan gave a little +laugh.</p> + +<p>"That's what all you Eastern men say," she said. "They're always telling +me I'm a goddess. Even the Englishmen say that."</p> + +<p>"Well," answered Faraday, surprised at his own boldness, "what they say +is true."</p> + +<p>Miss. Ryan silently eyed him for a speculating moment; then, averting +her glance, said, pensively: "Perhaps so; but I don't think it's so +stylish to be a goddess as it is to be very slim. And then, you +know——" Here she suddenly broke off, her eyes fixed upon the crowd of +ladies that blocked an opposite doorway in exeunt. "There's mommer. I +guess she must be going home, and I suppose I'd better go too, and not +keep her waiting."</p> + +<p>She rose as she spoke, and with a pat of her hand adjusted her +glimmering skirts.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Faraday," she said, as she peered down at them, "I hope you'll +give yourself the pleasure of calling on me. I'm at home almost any +afternoon after five, and Tuesday is my day. Come whenever you please. +I'll be real glad to see you, and I guess popper'd like to talk to you +about things in the East. He's been in Massachusetts too."</p> + +<p>She held out her large white hand and gave Faraday a vigorous +hand-shake.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad I came here tonight," she said, smiling. "I wasn't quite +decided, but I thought I'd better, as I had some things to tell Mrs. +Peck for next Sunday's <i>Trumpet</i>. If I hadn't come, I wouldn't have met +you. You needn't escort me to Madame Delmonti. I'd rather go by myself. +I'm not a bit a ceremonious person. Good-by. Be sure and come and see +me."</p> + +<p>She rustled away, exchanged farewells with Madame Delmonti, and, by a +movement of her head in his direction, appeared to be speaking of +Faraday; then joining a fur-muffled female figure near the doorway, +swept like a princess out of the room.</p> + +<p>For a week after Faraday's meeting with Miss. Genevieve Ryan, he had no +time to think of giving himself the pleasure of calling upon that fair +and flattering young lady. The position which he had come out from +Boston to fill was not an unusually exacting one, but Faraday, who was +troubled with a New England conscience, and a certain slowness in +adapting himself to new conditions of life, was too engrossed in +mastering the duties of his clerkship to think of loitering about the +chariot wheels of beauty.</p> + +<p>By the second week, however, he had shaken down into the new rut, and a +favorable opportunity presenting itself in a sunny Sunday afternoon, he +donned his black coat and high hat and repaired to the mansion of Barney +Ryan, on California Street.</p> + +<p>When Faraday approached the house, he felt quite timid, so imposingly +did this great structure loom up from the simpler dwellings which +surrounded it. Barney Ryan had built himself a palace, and ever since +the day he had first moved into it he had been anxious to move out. The +ladies of his family would not allow this, and so Barney endured his +grandeur as best he might. It was a great wooden house, with immense bay +windows thrown out on every side, and veiled within by long curtains of +heavy lace. The sweep of steps that spread so proudly from the portico +was flanked by two sleeping lions in stone, both appearing, by the +savage expressions which distorted their visages, to be suffering from +terrifying dreams. In the garden the spiked foliage of the dark, slender +dracænas and the fringed fans of giant filamentosas grew luxuriantly +with tropical effect.</p> + +<p>The large drawing-room, long, and looking longer with its wide mirrors, +was even more golden than Mrs. Delmonti's. There were gold moldings +about the mirrors and gold mountings to the chairs. In deserts of gold +frames appeared small oases of oil-painting. Faraday, hat in hand, stood +some time in wavering indecision, wondering in which of the brocaded and +gilded chairs he would look least like a king in an historical play. He +was about to decide in favor of a pale blue satin settee, when a rustle +behind him made him turn and behold Miss. Genevieve magnificent in a +trailing robe of the faintest rose-pink and pearls, with diamond +ear-rings in her ears, and the powder that she had hastily rubbed on her +face still lying white on her long lashes. She smiled her rare smile as +she greeted him, and sitting down in one of the golden chairs, leaned +her head against the back, and said, looking at him from under lowered +lids:</p> + +<p>"Well, I thought you were never coming!"</p> + +<p>Faraday, greatly encouraged by this friendly reception, made his +excuses, and set the conversation going. After the weather had been +exhausted, the topic of the Californian in his social aspect came up. +Faraday, with some timidity, ventured a question on the fashionable life +in San Francisco. A shade passed over Miss. Ryan's open countenance.</p> + +<p>"You know, Mr. Faraday," she said, explanatorily, "I'm not exactly in +society."</p> + +<p>"No?" murmured Faraday, mightily surprised, and wondering what she was +going to say next.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," continued Miss. Ryan, moistening her red under lip in a +pondering moment—"not exactly in fash'nable society. Of course we have +our friends. But gentlemen from the East that I've met have always been +so surprised when I told them that I didn't go out in the most +fash'nable circles. They always thought any one with money could get +right in it here."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" said Faraday, whose part of the conversation appeared to be +deteriorating into monosyllables.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know, that's not the case at all. With all popper's money, +we've never been able to get a real good footing. It seems funny to +outsiders, especially as popper and mommer have never been divorced or +anything. We've just lived quietly right here in the city always. But," +she said, looking tentatively at Faraday to see how he was going to take +the statement, "my father's a Northerner. He went back and fought in the +war."</p> + +<p>"You must be very proud of that," said Faraday, feeling that he could +now hazard a remark with safety.</p> + +<p>This simple comment, however, appeared to surprise the enigmatic Miss. +Ryan.</p> + +<p>"Proud of it?" she queried, looking in suspended doubt at Faraday. "Oh, +of course I'm proud that he was brave, and didn't run away or get +wounded; but if he'd been a Southerner we would have been in society +now." She looked pensively at Faraday. "All the fashionable people are +Southerners, you know. We would have been, too, if we'd have been +Southerners. It's being Northerners that really has been such a +drawback."</p> + +<p>"But your sympathies," urged Faraday, "aren't they with the North?"</p> + +<p>Miss. Ryan ran the pearl fringe of her tea-gown through her large, +handsome hands. "I guess so," she said, indifferently, as if she was +considering the subject for the first time; "but you can't expect me to +have any very violent sympathies about a war that was dead and buried +before I was born."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you're a genuine Northerner, or Southerner either," +said Faraday, laughing.</p> + +<p>"I guess not," said the young lady, with the same placid indifference. +"An English gentleman whom I knew real well last year said the sympathy +of the English was all with the Southerners. He said they were the most +refined people in this country. He said they were thought a great deal +of in England?" She again looked at Faraday with her air of deprecating +query, as if she half expected him to contradict her.</p> + +<p>"Who was this extraordinarily enlightened being?" asked Faraday.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harold Courtney, an elegant Englishman. They said his grandfather +was a Lord—Lord Hastings—but you never can be sure about those things. +I saw quite a good deal of him, and I sort of liked him, but he was +rather quiet. I think if he'd been an American we would have thought him +dull. Here they just said it was reserve. We all thought——"</p> + +<p>A footstep in the hall outside arrested her recital. The door of the +room was opened, and a handsome bonneted head appeared in the aperture.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gen," said this apparition, hastily—"excuse me; I didn't know you +had your company in there?"</p> + +<p>"Come in, mommer," said Miss. Ryan, politely; "I want to make you +acquainted with Mr. Faraday. He's the gentleman I met at Madame +Delmonti's the other evening."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ryan, accompanied by a rich rustling of silk, pushed open the door, +revealing herself to Faraday's admiring eyes as a fine-looking woman, +fresh in tint, still young, of a stately figure and imposing presence. +She was admirably dressed in a walking costume of dark green, and wore a +little black jet bonnet on her slightly waved bright brown hair. She met +the visitor with an extended hand and a frank smile of open pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Genevieve spoke to me of you, Mr. Faraday," she said, settling down +into a chair and removing her gloves. "I'm very glad you managed to get +around here."</p> + +<p>Faraday expressed his joy at having been able to accomplish the visit.</p> + +<p>"We don't have so many agreeable gentlemen callers," said Mrs. Ryan, +"that we can afford to overlook a new one. If you've been in society, +you've perhaps noticed, Mr. Faraday, that gentlemen are somewhat +scarce."</p> + +<p>Faraday said he had not been in society, therefore had not observed the +deficiency. Mrs. Ryan, barely allowing him time to complete his +sentence, continued, vivaciously:</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Faraday, you'll see it later. We entertainers don't know what +we are going to do for the lack of gentlemen. When we give parties we +ask the young gentlemen, and they all come; but they won't dance, they +won't talk, they won't do anything but eat and drink and they never +think of paying their party calls. It's disgraceful, Mr. Faraday," said +Mrs. Ryan, smiling brightly—"disgraceful!"</p> + +<p>Faraday said he had heard that in the East the hostess made the same +complaint. Mrs. Ryan, with brilliant fixed eyes, gave him a +breathing-space to reply in, and then started off again, with a +confirmatory nod of her head:</p> + +<p>"Precisely, Mr. Faraday—just the case here. At Genevieve's début +party—an elegant affair—Mrs. Peck said she'd never seen a finer +entertainment in this city—canvas floors, four musicians, champagne +flowing like water. My husband, Mr. Faraday believes in giving the best +at his entertainments; there's not a mean bone in Barney Ryan's body. +Why, the men all got into the smoking-room, lit their cigars, and smoked +there, and in the ballroom were the girls sitting around the walls, and +not more than half a dozen partners for them. I tell you, Mr. Ryan was +mad. He just went up there, and told them to get up and dance or get up +and go home——he didn't much care which. There's no fooling with Mr. +Ryan when he's roused. You remember how mad popper was that night, Gen?"</p> + +<p>Miss. Ryan nodded an assent, her eyes full of smiling reminiscence. She +had listened to her mother's story with unmoved attention and evident +appreciation. "Next time we have a party," she said, looking smilingly +at Faraday, "Mr. Faraday can come and see for himself."</p> + +<p>"I guess it'll be a long time before we have another like that," said +Mrs. Ryan, somewhat grimly, rising as Faraday rose to take his leave. +"Not but what," she added, hastily, fearing her remark had seemed +ungracious, "we'll hope Mr. Faraday will come without waiting for +parties."</p> + +<p>"But we've had one since then," said Miss. Ryan, as she placed her hand +in his in the pressure of farewell, "that laid all over that first one."</p> + +<p>Having been pressed to call by both mother and daughter, and having told +himself that Genevieve Ryan was "an interesting study," Faraday, after +some hesitation, paid a second visit to the Ryan mansion. Upon this +occasion the Chinese servant, murmuring unintelligibly, showed a rooted +aversion to his entering. Faraday, greatly at sea, wondering vaguely if +the terrible Barney Ryan had issued a mandate to his hireling to refuse +him admittance, was about to turn and depart, when the voice of Mrs. +Ryan in the hall beyond arrested him. Bidden to open the door, the +Mongolian reluctantly did so and Faraday was admitted.</p> + +<p>"Sing didn't want to let you in," said Mrs. Ryan when they had gained +the long gold drawing-room, "because Genevieve was out. He never lets +any gentlemen in when she's not at home. He thinks I'm too old to have +them come to see me."</p> + +<p>Then they sat down, and after a little preliminary chat on the Chinese +character and the Californian climate, Mrs. Ryan launched forth into her +favorite theme of discourse.</p> + +<p>"Genevieve will be so sorry to miss you," she said; "she's always so +taken by Eastern gentlemen. They admire her, too, immensely. I can't +tell you of the compliments we've heard directly and indirectly that +they've paid her. Of course I can see that she's an unusually +fine-looking girl, and very accomplished. Mr. Ryan and I have spared +nothing in her education—nothing. At Madame de Vivier's academy for +young ladies—one of the most select in the State—Madame's husband's +one of the French nobility, and she always had to support him—Genevieve +took every extra—music, languages, and drawing. Professor Rodriguez, +who taught her the guitar, said that never outside of Spain had he heard +such a touch. 'Señora,' he says to me—that's his way of expressing +himself, and it sounds real cute the way he says it—'Señora, is there +not some Spanish blood in this child? No one without Spanish blood +could touch the strings that way.' Afterwards when Demaroni taught her +the mandolin, it was just the same. He could not believe she had not had +teaching before. Then Madame Mezzenott gave her a term's lessons on the +bandurria, and she said there never was such talent; she might have made +a fortune on the concert stage."</p> + +<p>"Yes, undoubtedly," Faraday squeezed in, as Mrs. Ryan drew a breath.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Mr. Faraday, everybody has remarked her talents. It isn't you +alone. All the Eastern gentlemen we have met have said that the musical +talents of the Californian young ladies were astonishing They all agree +that Genevieve's musical genius is remarkable. Everybody declares that +there is no one—not among the Spaniards themselves—who sings <i>La +Paloma</i> as Gen does. Professor Spighetti instructed her in that. He was +a wonderful teacher. I never saw such a method. But we had to give him +up because he fell in love with Gen. That's the worst of it—the +teachers are always falling in love with her; and with her prospects and +position we naturally expect something better. Of course it's been very +hard to keep her. I say to Mr. Ryan, as each winter comes to an end, +'Well, popper, another season's over and we've still got our Gen.' We +feel that we can't be selfish and hope to keep her always, and, with so +many admirers, we realize that we must soon lose her, and try to get +accustomed to the idea."</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course," murmured Faraday, sympathetically, mentally +picturing Mrs. Ryan keeping away the suitors as Rizpah kept the eagles +and vultures off her dead sons.</p> + +<p>"There was a Mr. Courtney who was very attentive last year. His +grandfather was an English lord. We had to buy a <i>Peerage</i> to find out +if he was genuine, and, as he was, we had him quite often to the house. +He paid Genevieve a good deal of attention, but toward the end of the +season he said he had to go back to England and see his grandfather—his +father was dead—and left without saying anything definite. He told me +though, that he was coming back. I fully expect he will, though Mr. Ryan +doesn't seem to think so. Genevieve felt rather put out about it for a +time. She thought he hadn't been upright to see her so constantly and +not say anything definite. But she doesn't understand the subserviency +of Englishmen to their elders. You know, we have none of that in this +country. If my son Eddie wanted to marry a typewriter, Mr. Ryan could +never prevent it. I fully expect to see Mr. Courtney again. I'd like you +to meet him, Mr. Faraday. I think you'd agree very well. He's just such +a quiet, reserved young man as you."</p> + +<p>When, after this interview, Faraday descended the broad steps between +the sleeping lions, he did not feel so good-tempered as he had done +after his first visit. He recalled to mind having heard that Mrs. Ryan, +before her marriage, had been a schoolteacher, and he said to himself +that if she had no more sense then than she had now, her pupils must +have received a fearful and wonderful education.</p> + +<p>At Madame Delmonti's <i>conversazione</i>, given a few evenings later, +Faraday again saw Miss. Ryan. On the first of these occasions this +independent young lady was dressed simply in a high-necked gown and a +hat. This evening with her habitual disregard of custom and convention, +some whim had caused her to array herself in full gala attire, and, +habited in a gorgeous costume of white silk and yellow velvet, with a +glimmer of diamonds round the low neck, she was startling in her large +magnificence.</p> + +<p>Jack Faraday approached her somewhat awe-stricken, but her gravely +boyish manner immediately put him at his ease. Talking with her over +commonplaces, he wondered what she would say if she knew of her mother's +conversation with him. As if in answer to the unspoken thought, she +suddenly said fixing him with intent eyes:</p> + +<p>"Mommer said she told you of Mr. Courtney. Do you think he'll come +back?"</p> + +<p>Faraday, his breath taken away by the suddenness of the attack, felt the +blood run to his hair, and stammered a reply.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know," she said, leaning toward him confidentially, "I +<i>don't</i>. Mommer is possessed with the idea that he will. But neither +popper nor I think so. I got sort of annoyed with the way he +acted—hanging about for a whole winter, and then running away to see +his grandfather, like a little boy ten years old! I like men that are +their own masters. But I suppose I would have married him. You see, he +would have been a lord when his grandfather died. It was genuine—we saw +it in the <i>Peerage</i>."</p> + +<p>She looked into Faraday's eyes. Her own were as clear and deep as +mountain springs. Was Miss. Genevieve Ryan the most absolutely honest +and outspoken young woman that had ever lived, or was she some subtle +and unusual form of Pacific Slope coquette?</p> + +<p>"Popper was quite mad about it," she continued. "He thought Mr. Courtney +was an ordinary sort of person, anyway. I didn't. I just thought him +dull, and I suppose he couldn't help that. Mommer wanted to go over to +England last summer. She thought we might stumble on him over there. But +popper wouldn't let her do it. He sent us to Alaska instead." She +paused, and gave a smiling bow to an acquaintance. "Doesn't Mrs. Peck +look sweet tonight?" She designated the society editress of the <i>Morning +Trumpet</i>, whose fragile figure was encased in a pale blue Empire +costume. "And that lady over by the door, with the gold crown in her +hair, the stout one in red, is Mrs. Wheatley, a professional Delsarte +teacher. She's a great friend of mine and gives me Delsarte twice a +week."</p> + +<p>And Miss. Genevieve Ryan nodded to the dispenser of "Delsarte," a large +and florid woman, who, taking her stand under a spreading palm tree, +began to declaim "The Portrait" of Owen Meredith, and in the recital of +the dead lady's iniquitous conduct the conversation was brought to a +close.</p> + +<p>From its auspicious opening, Faraday's acquaintance with the Ryans +ripened and developed with a speed which characterizes the growth of +friendship and of fruit in the genial Californian atmosphere. Almost +before he felt that he had emerged from the position of a stranger he +had slipped into that of an intimate. He fell into the habit of visiting +the Ryan mansion on California Street on Sunday afternoons. It became a +custom for him to dine there <i>en famille</i> at least once a week. The +simplicity and light-hearted good-nature of these open-handed and +kindly people touched and charmed him. There was not a trace of the snob +in Faraday. He accepted the lavish and careless hospitality of Barney +Ryan's "palatial residence," as the newspapers delighted to call it, +with a spirit as frankly pleased as that in which it was offered.</p> + +<p>He came of an older civilization than that which had given Barney Ryan's +daughter her frankness and her force, and it did not cross his mind that +the heiress of millions might cast tender eyes upon the penniless sons +of New England farmers. He said to himself with impatient recklessness +that he ought not to and would not fall in love with her. There was too +great a distance between them. It would be King Cophetua and the +beggar-maid reversed. Clerks at one hundred and fifty dollars a month +were not supposed to aspire to only daughters of bonanza kings in the +circle from which Faraday had come. So he visited the Ryans, assuring +himself that he was a friend of the family, who would dance at Miss +Genevieve's wedding with the lightest of hearts.</p> + +<p>The Chinese butler had grown familiar with Faraday's attractive +countenance and his unabbreviated English, when late one warm and sunny +afternoon the young man pulled the bell of the great oaken door of the +Ryans' lion-guarded home. In answer to his queries for the ladies, he +learned that they were out; but the Mongolian functionary, after +surveying him charily through the crack of the door, admitted that Mr. +Ryan was within, and conducted the visitor into his presence.</p> + +<p>Barney Ryan, suffering from a slight sprain in his ankle, sat at ease in +a little sitting-room in the back of the house. Mr. Ryan, being +irritable and in some pain, the women-folk had relaxed the severity of +their dominion, and allowed him to sit unchecked in his favorite costume +for the home circle—shirt sleeves and a tall beaver hat. Beside him on +the table stood bare and undecorated array of bottles, a glass, and a +silver water-pitcher.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ryan was now some years beyond sixty, but had that tremendous vigor +of frame and constitution that distinguished the pioneers—an attribute +strangely lacking in their puny and degenerate sons. This short and +chunky old man, with his round, thick head, bristling hair and beard, +and huge red neck, had still a fiber as tough as oak. He looked coarse, +uncouth, and stupid, but in his small gray eyes shone the alert and +unconquerable spirit which marked the pioneers as the giants of the +West, and which had carried him forward over every obstacle to the +summit of his ambitions. Barney Ryan was restless in his confinement; +for, despite his age and the completeness of his success, his life was +still with the world of men where the bull-necked old miner was a king. +At home the women rather domineered over him, and unconsciously made him +feel his social deficiencies. At home, too, the sorrow and the pride of +his life were always before him—his son, a weak and dissipated boy; and +his daughter, who had inherited his vigor and his spirit with a beauty +that had descended to her from some forgotten peasant girl of the Irish +bogs.</p> + +<p>Faraday, with his power of listening interminably, and his intelligent +comments, was a favorite of old Ryan's. He greeted him with a growling +welcome; and then, civilities being interchanged, called to the +Chinaman for another glass. This menial, rubbing off the long mirrors +that decorated the walls, would not obey the mandate till it had been +roared at him by the wounded lion in a tone which made the chandelier +rattle.</p> + +<p>"I never can make those infernal idiots understand me," said old Ryan, +plaintively. "They won't do a thing I tell them. It takes the old lady +to manage 'em. She makes them skip."</p> + +<p>Then after some minutes of discourse on more or less uninteresting +matters, the weary old man, glad of a listener, launched forth into +domestic topics.</p> + +<p>"Gen and the old lady are out buying new togs. I got a letter here +that'll astonish them when they get back. It's from that English cuss, +Courtney. D'ye ever hear about him? He was hanging about Genevieve all +last winter. And this letter says he's coming back, that his +grandfather's dead, and he's a lord now, and he's coming back. Do you +mind that now, Faraday?" he said, looking with eyes full of humor at the +young man.</p> + +<p>Faraday expressed a sharp surprise.</p> + +<p>"You know, Jack," continued the old man, "we're trained up to having +these high-priced Englishmen come out here and eat our dinners, and +sleep in our spare rooms, and drink our wines and go home, and when they +meet us there forget they've ever seen us before; but we ain't trained +up to havin' 'em come back this way, and it's hard to get accustomed to +it."</p> + +<p>"It's not surprising," said Faraday, coldly.</p> + +<p>"I'm not so dead sure of that. But I can tell you the old lady'll be +wild about this."</p> + +<p>"Does Mrs. Ryan like him so much?" said the visitor, still coldly.</p> + +<p>"All women like a lord, and Mrs. Ryan ain't different from the rest of +her sex. She's dead stuck on Gen marrying him. I'm not myself, Jack. I'm +no Anglomaniac; an American's good enough for me. I'm not spoiling to +see my money going to patch up the roof of the ancestral castle of the +Courtneys, or pay their ancestral debts—not by a long chalk."</p> + +<p>"Do you think he's coming back to borrow money from you to pay off the +ancestral debts?" asked Faraday.</p> + +<p>"Not to borrow, Jack. Oh no, not to borrow—to get it for keeps—it, and +Genevieve with it. And I don't just see how I'm to prevent it. Gen don't +seem to care much, but the old lady's got it on her mind that she'd like +to have a lord in the family, no matter how high they come; and she can +work on Gen. Last summer she wanted to go after him—wanted to track him +to his lair; but I thought she might's well stop there, and put m' foot +down. Gen don't seem to care about him one way or the other, but then +'Lady Genevieve' sounds pretty nice——"</p> + +<p>Here a rustle of millinery, approaching through the drawing-room beyond, +cut short old Ryan's confidences. Faraday stood up to receive the +ladies, who entered jubilant and unwearied from an afternoon's shopping. +Genevieve, a magnificent princess, with the air of fashion given by +perfectly setting clothes, much brown fur and velvet, a touch of yellow +lace, and a quantity of fresh violets pinned to her corsage, looked as +if she would make a very fine Lady Genevieve.</p> + +<p>As soon as she heard the news she demanded the letter, and perused it +intently, Faraday covertly watching her. Raising her eyes, she met his +and said, with a little mocking air, "Well, Mr. Faraday, and what do you +think of that?"</p> + +<p>"That your mother seems to have been right," said Faraday, steadily +eyeing her. An expression of chagrin and disappointment, rapid but +unmistakable, crossed her face, dimming its radiance like a breath on a +mirror. She gave a little toss to her head, and turning away toward an +adjacent looking-glass, took off her veil and settled her hat.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ryan watched her with glowing pride already seeing her in fancy a +member of the British aristocracy; but old Ryan looked rather downcast, +as he generally did when confronted by the triumphant gorgeousness of +the feminine members of his household. Faraday, too, experienced a +sudden depression of spirits so violent and so uncalled for that if he +had had room for any other feeling he would have been intensely +surprised. Barney Ryan, at the prospect of having to repair the breaches +in the Courtney exchequer and ancestral roof-tree, may have experienced +a pardonable dejection. But why should Faraday, who assured himself a +dozen times a day that he merely admired Miss. Genevieve, as any man +might admire a charming and handsome girl, feel so desperate a +despondency?</p> + +<p>To prove to himself that his gloom did not rise from the cause that he +knew it did rise from, Faraday continued to be a constant guest at the +Ryan mansion, continued to see Miss. Genevieve at Madame Delmonti's and +at the other small social gatherings, where the presentable young New +Englander found himself quite a lion. When Mrs. Ryan saw him alone she +flattered his superior intelligence and experience of the world by +asking his opinion of the approaching Lord Hastings's matrimonial plans. +This frank and outspoken lady was on the thorns of uncertainty, Lord +Hastings's flight on his former visit having shaken her faith in him. +Quite unconsciously she impressed upon Faraday how completely both she +and Genevieve had come to trust him as a tried friend.</p> + +<p>With the exaltation of a knight of old, Faraday felt that their trust +would never be misplaced. He answered Mrs. Ryan's anxious queries with +all the honesty of the calmest friendship. Alone in the great gold +drawing-room, he talked to Genevieve on books, on music, on fashion, on +society—on all subjects but that of love. And all the while he felt +like the nightingale who sings its sweetest music while pressing its +breast against a thorn.</p> + +<p>Lord Hastings seemed to have lost no time in repairing to the side of +the fair lady who was supposed to be the object of his fondest +devotions, and whom destiny appeared to have selected as the renovator +of Courtney Manor. Four weeks from the day Faraday had heard of his +intended visit, the Bostonian received a letter from Mrs. Ryan bidding +him to dinner to meet the illustrious guest. It seemed to Faraday that +to go to see the newcomer in converse with Genevieve, beautiful in her +costliest robes, to view the approving smiles of Mrs. Ryan, and perhaps +the happy blushes of Miss. Ryan, was the manly upright course for one +who could never be more than the avowed friend and silent worshipper of +Barney Ryan's only daughter.</p> + +<p>Arriving ten minutes late, he found the party already at the table. It +was an inflexible rule of Barney Ryan's to sit down to dinner at the +stroke of half-past six, whether his guests were assembled or not—a +rule which even his wife's cajoleries and commands were powerless to +combat.</p> + +<p>Tonight the iron old man might well regard with pride the luxury and +splendor that crowned a turbulent career begun in nipping poverty. The +round table, glowing beneath the lights of the long crystal chandeliers, +sparkled with cut-glass, and shone with antique silverware, while in the +center a mass of pale purple orchids spread their fragile crêpe-like +petals from a fringe of fern. Opposite him, still unfaded, superbly +dressed, and admirably self-possessed, was his smiling consort, toward +whom, whatever his pride in her might have been, his feelings this +evening were somewhat hostile, as the ambitious and determined lady had +forced him to don regulation evening dress, arrayed in which Barney's +peace of mind and body both fled.</p> + +<p>On either side of the table sat his son and daughter, the latter +handsomer than Faraday had ever seen her, her heavy dress of +ivory-tinted silk no whiter than her neck, a diamond aigret trembling +like spray in her hair. Her brother Eddie, a year and a half her senior, +looked as if none of the blood of this vigorous strong-thewed, sturdy +stock could run in his veins. He was a pale and sickly looking lad, with +a weak, vulgar face, thin hair and red eyelids. Faraday had only seen +him once or twice before, and judged from remarks made to him by +acquaintances of the family that Eddie did not often honor the parental +roof with his presence. Eddie's irregular career appeared to be the one +subject on which the family maintained an immovable and melancholy +reserve. The disappointment in his only son was the bitter drop in +Barney Ryan's cup.</p> + +<p>There were other guests at the table. Faraday received a coy bow from +Mrs. Peck, who had given her hair an extra bleaching for this occasion, +till her pinched and powdered little face looked out from under an +orange-colored thatch; Mrs. Wheatley was there too, with a suggestion of +large white shoulders shining through veilings of black gauze; and with +an air of stately pride, Mrs. Ryan presented him to Lord Hastings. This +young man, sitting next Genevieve, was a tall, fair, straight-featured +Englishman of gravely unresponsive manners. In the severe perfection of +his immaculate evening dress he looked a handsome, well-bred young +fellow of twenty-five or six.</p> + +<p>As the late guest dropped into his seat, the interrupted conversation +regathered and flowed again. Barney Ryan said nothing. He never spoke +while eating, and rarely talked when women were present. Genevieve too +was quiet, responding with a gently absent smile, when her cavalier, +turning upon her his cold and expressionless steely-blue eyes, addressed +to her some short regulation remark on the weather, or the boredom of +his journey across the plains. The phlegmatic calm of his demeanor +remained intact even under the coquettish onslaughts of Mrs. Peck and +Mrs. Wheatley, who extracted from him with wheedling perseverance his +opinions on the State, the climate, and the country. Lord Hastings +replied with iron-bound and unsmiling brevity, his wide cold glance +resting with motionless attention upon the painted physiognomy of Mrs. +Peck and the broad and buxom one of Mrs. Wheatley, and his head turning +with dignified difficulty in his exceedingly high and tight collar, as +one and the other assailed him with queries. Meanwhile the object of his +journey, slowly moving her great fan of white ostrich feathers, looked +across the table at Faraday and made a little surreptitious <i>moue</i>.</p> + +<p>The conversation soon became absorbed by the two married ladies, +Faraday, and Lord Hastings. Only the Ryans were silent, Genevieve now +and then throwing a lazy sentence into the vortex of talk, and Mrs. Ryan +being occupied in lending a proud ear to the coruscations of wit that +sparkled around the board, or in making covert gestures to the +soft-footed Mongols, who moved with deft noiselessness about the table. +Eddie Ryan, like his father, rarely spoke in society. In the glare of +the chandelier he sat like a strange uncomfortable guest, taking no +notice of any one. Toward the end of the feast he conversed in urgent +whispers with his mother—a conversation which ended in her +surreptitiously giving him her keys under the edge of the table. Before +coffee, Eddie left, on the plea of an important engagement, retiring +through the drawing-room, softly jingling the keys.</p> + +<p>After this dinner, when Lord Hastings's presence had banished all his +doubts, when the young Englishman's attractive appearance had impressed +itself upon his jealous eye, and Genevieve's gentle indifference had +seemed to him but a modest form of encouragement. Faraday found but +little time to pay visits to the hospitable home of Barney Ryan.</p> + +<p>The family friend that they had all so warmly welcomed and taken to +their hearts withdrew himself quietly but firmly from their cheerful +circle. When, at rare intervals, he did drop in upon them, he pleaded +important business engagements as the reason of his inability to accept +their numerous invitations to dinners and theater parties. After these +mendacious statements he would wend a gloomy way homeward to his Pine +Street boarding-house, and there spend the evening pretending to read, +and cursing the fate which had ever brought him within the light of +Genevieve's <i>beaux yeux</i>. The fable of being the family friend was quite +shattered. Faraday had capitulated.</p> + +<p>Nearly two months after the dinner, when rumors of Genevieve Ryan's +engagement to Lord Hastings were in lively circulation, Faraday called +at the lion-guarded mansion on California Street, and, in answering to +his regulation request for the ladies, received the usual unintelligible +Chinese rejoinder, and was shown into the gold drawing-room. There, +standing in front of a long mirror, looking at her skirts with an eye of +pondering criticism, was Miss Genevieve, dressed to go out. She caught +sight of him in the glass, turned abruptly, and came forward, a color in +her face.</p> + +<p>"Is that you?" she said, holding out her hand. "I am so glad. I thought +it was somebody else." Having thus, with her customary candor, +signified to Faraday that she was expecting Lord Hastings, she sat down +facing him, and said, abruptly, "Why haven't you been here for so long?"</p> + +<p>Faraday made the usual excuses, and did quail before her cold and steady +eyes.</p> + +<p>"That's rather funny," she said, as he concluded "for now you're used to +your new position, and it must go more easily, and yet you have less +time to see your friends than you did at first."</p> + +<p>Faraday made more excuses, and wondered that she should take a cruel +pleasure in such small teasing.</p> + +<p>"I thought p'r'aps," she said, still regarding him with an unflinching +scrutiny, her face grave and almost hard, "that you'd begun to find us +too Western, that the novelty had worn off, that our ways were +too—too—what shall I say?—too wild and woolly."</p> + +<p>A flush of anger ran over Faraday's face. "Your suppositions were +neither just nor true," he said, coldly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," she continued, with a careless movement of her head, +and speaking in the high, indifferent tone that a woman adopts when she +wishes to be exasperating; "you needn't get mad. Lots of Eastern people +feel that way. They come out here and see us constantly, and make +friends with us, and then go back and laugh at us, and tell their +friends what barbarians we are. It's customary, and nothing to be +ashamed of."</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose that I am that sort of an Eastern person?" asked +Faraday, quietly.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said, doubtfully. "I didn't think you were at first, +but now——"</p> + +<p>"But now you do. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because you don't come here any more," she said, with a little air of +triumph. "You're tired of us. The novelty is over and so are the +visits."</p> + +<p>Faraday arose, too bitterly annoyed for speech. Genevieve, rising too, +and touching her skirts with arranging hand, continued, apparently +unconscious of the storm she was rousing:</p> + +<p>"And yet it seems odd that you should find such a difference. Lord +Hastings, now, who's English, and much more conventional, thinks the +people here just as refined and particular as any other Americans."</p> + +<p>"It's evident," said Faraday, in a voice roughened with anger, "that +Lord Hastings's appreciation of the refinement of the Americans is only +equaled by your admiration for the talents of the English."</p> + +<p>"I do like them," said Genevieve, dubiously, shaking her head, as if she +was admitting a not entirely creditable taste, and looking away from +him.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence. Faraday fastened his eyes upon her in a +look of passionate confession that in its powerful pleading drew her own +back to his.</p> + +<p>"You're as honest as you are cruel," he said, almost in a whisper.</p> + +<p>She made no reply, but turned her head sharply away, as if in sudden +embarrassment. Then, in answer to his conventionally murmured good-byes, +she looked back, and he saw her face radiant, alight, with the most +beautiful smile trembling on the lips. The splendor of this look seemed +to him a mute expression of her happiness—of love reciprocated, +ambition realized—and in it he read his own doom. He turned blindly +round to pick up his hat; the door behind him was opened, and there, +handsome, debonair, fresh as a May morning, stood Lord Hastings, hat in +hand.</p> + +<p>"I hope you're not vexed, Miss. Ryan," said this young man, "but I'm +very much afraid I'm just a bit late."</p> + +<p>After this Faraday thought it quite unnecessary to visit Barney Ryan's +"palatial mansion" for some time. Genevieve's engagement would soon be +announced, and then he would have to go and offer his congratulations. +As to whether he would dance at her wedding with a light heart—that was +another matter. He assured himself that she was making a splendid and +eminently suitable marriage. With her beauty and money and true simple +heart she would deck the fine position which the Englishman could give +her. He wished her every happiness, but that he should stand by and +watch the progress of the courtship seemed to him an unnecessary +twisting of the knife in the wound. Even the endurance of New England +human nature has its limits, and Faraday could stand no more. So he +refused an invitation to a tea from Mrs. Ryan, and one to a dinner and +another to a small musical from Miss. Ryan, and alone in his Pine Street +lodgings, for the first time in his life, read the "social columns" with +a throbbing heart.</p> + +<p>One Saturday afternoon, two weeks from the day that he had last seen +Genevieve, he sat in his room trying to read. He had left the office +early, and though it was still some hours before dark, a heavy +unremitting rain had enveloped the afternoon in a premature twilight. +The perpetual run of water from a break in the gutter near his window +sounded drearily through the depressing history of the woes and +disappointments of David Grieve. The gloom of the book and the afternoon +was settling upon Faraday with the creeping stealthiness of a chill, +when a knock sounded upon his door, and one of the servants without +acquainted him with the surprising piece of intelligence that a lady was +waiting to see him in the sitting-room below.</p> + +<p>As he entered the room, dim with the heavy somberness of the leaden +atmosphere, he saw his visitor standing looking out of the window—a +tall, broad-shouldered, small-waisted striking figure, with a neat black +turban crowning her closely braided hair. At his step she turned, and +revealed the gravely handsome face of Genevieve Ryan. He made no attempt +to take her hand, but murmured a regulation sentence of greeting; then, +looking into her eyes, saw for the first time that handsome face marked +with strong emotion. Miss. Ryan was shaken from her phlegmatic calm; her +hand trembled on the back of the chair before her; the little knot of +violets in her dress vibrated to the beating of her heart.</p> + +<p>"This is not a very conventional thing to do," she said, with her usual +ignoring of all preamble, "but I can't help that. I had something to +talk to you about, Mr. Faraday, and as you would not come to see me, I +had to come to see you."</p> + +<p>"What is it that you wanted to see me about?" asked Faraday, standing +motionless, and feeling in the sense of oppression and embarrassment +that seemed to weigh upon them both the premonition of an approaching +crisis.</p> + +<p>She made no answer for a moment, but stood looking down, as if in an +effort to choose her words or collect her thoughts, the violets in her +dress rising and falling with her quickened breathing.</p> + +<p>"It's rather hard to know how to say—anything," she said at length.</p> + +<p>"If I can do anything for you," said the young man, "you know it would +always be a happiness to me to serve you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's not a message or a favor," she said, hastily. "I only wanted +to say something"—she paused in great embarrassment—"but it's even +more queer more unusual, than my coming here."</p> + +<p>Faraday made no response, and for a space both were silent. Then she +said, speaking with a peculiar low distinctness:</p> + +<p>"The last time I saw you I seemed very disagreeable. I wanted to make +sure of something. I wanted to make sure that you were fond of me—to +surprise it out of you. Well—I did it. You are fond of me. I made you +show it to me." She raised her eyes, brilliant and dark, and looked into +his. "If you were to swear to me now that I was wrong I would know you +were not telling the truth," she said, with proud defiance. "You love +me."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Faraday, slowly, "I do. What then?"</p> + +<p>"What then?" she repeated. "Why do you go away—go away from me?"</p> + +<p>"Because," he answered, "I am too much of a man to live within sight of +the woman I love and can never hope for."</p> + +<p>"Can never hope for?" she exclaimed, aghast. "Are you—are you married?"</p> + +<p>The sudden horror on her face was a strange thing for Faraday to see.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I am not married."</p> + +<p>"Then, did she tell you that you never could hope for her?" said Miss. +Genevieve Ryan, in a tremulous voice.</p> + +<p>"No. It was not necessary. I knew myself."</p> + +<p>"You did yourself a wrong, and her too," she broke out, passionately. +"You should have told her, and given her a chance to say—to say what +she has a right to say, without making her come to you, with her love in +her hand, to offer it to you as if she was afraid you were going to +throw it back in her face. It's bad enough being a woman anyway, but to +have the feelings of a woman, and then have to say a thing like +this—it's—it's—ghastly."</p> + +<p>"Genevieve!" breathed Faraday.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you understand?" she continued, desperately. "You won't see +it. You make me come here and tell it to you this way. I may be badly +mannered and unconventional, but I have feelings and pride like other +women. But what else could I do?"</p> + +<p>Her voice suddenly broke into soft appeal, and she held out her hands +toward him with a gesture as spontaneous in its pleading tenderness as +though made by a child. Faraday was human. He dashed away the chair that +stood between them and clasped the trembling hands in his.</p> + +<p>"Why is it," she asked, looking into his face with shining troubled +eyes—"why is it you acted this way? Was it Lord Hastings? I refused +him two weeks ago. I thought I'd marry him once, but that was before I +knew you. Then I waited for you, and you didn't come, and I wrote to +you, and you wouldn't come. And so I had to come and tell you myself, +and it's been something dreadful."</p> + +<p>Faraday made no response, but feeling the smooth hands curled warm +inside his, he stood listening to those soft accents that issued with +the sweetness that love alone lends to women's voices from lips he had +thought as far beyond his reach as the key of the rainbow.</p> + +<p>"Do you think it was awful for me to do it?" she queried, in whispering +anxiety.</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, laughing a little and turning her head half away, as +her former embarrassment began to reassert itself over her subsiding +nervousness, "I've often wished I was a man, but if it's always as awful +as that to propose to a person, I'm quite content to be a woman."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="GIDEONS_KNOCK" id="GIDEONS_KNOCK"></a><a href="#toc">GIDEON'S KNOCK</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">MARY HALLECK FOOTE</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Written for <span class="smcap">The Spinners' Book of Fiction</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>All Rights Reserved</i></p> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/b.jpg" alt="B" /></span>Y A curious coincidence, whenever George Fleming was translated to a +wider berth, it was my luck to succeed him in the job he had just +quitted. This had happened more than once, in the chances and changes +that befall the younger men in the mining profession, before we began to +jolly each other about it—always at long range.</p> + +<p>When I heard he had resigned from the Consolidated Resumption, to +everybody's surprise, at a time of great prosperity to the mine, I +hailed my chance and congratulated myself that I should speedily be +asked to fill his place: and I was!</p> + +<p>I wrote him on the spot a playful letter, alluding to my long, stern +chase and begging him to hold on this time till I could shake him by the +hand; I had come to have a personal sentiment toward him apart from the +natural desire to meet face to face the author of my continued +advancement. But to this letter I received no word of reply.</p> + +<p>His silence haunted me, rather—I thought about him a good deal while I +was closing up my affairs in other directions before taking over the +Consolidated Resumption. Meanwhile the company's cashier, Joshua Dean, +a man of trust but small initiative, was filling the interregnum.</p> + +<p>I found him living alone in the manager's house with the Flemings' +Chinese cook as man of all work. The Resumption has never tolerated a +boarding-house or a village or compound within sight of its official +windows. Its first manager was a son of the chief owner, who built his +house in the style of a gentleman's country-seat, small but exclusive +and quite apart from the work. I liked the somber seclusion of the +place, planted deep with trees of about twenty years' growth, showing +their delicate, changing greens against the darker belt of pines. But +its aspect increased, if anything, that uneasy sensation, like a cold +wind in my back, which I still had in thinking of Fleming.</p> + +<p>I had driven out to dine with Dean on the evening of my arrival. It was +the last week in January; there had been much rain already for the +foot-hills. Wet sprays from the untrimmed rose hedges disputed my +passage through the inner gate. Discolored pine-needles lay in sodden +drifts on the neglected grass. The hydrant leaked frozen puddles down +the brick-paved walk. Mounting the veranda steps I laid my hand on the +knocker, when an old Chinese servant popped his head out at a side-door +and violently beckoned me in that way.</p> + +<p>Dean, as I knew, had made his home with the Flemings for some time +before their departure. After a few talks with him and a survey of the +house I decided we might venture to continue the arrangement without +getting in each other's way. It was a house peculiarly adapted to a +<i>solitude à deux</i>. There was no telephone nearer than the office. I +argued that Fleming was a man who could protect himself from frivolous +intrusions, and his wife could have had but little in common with her +neighbors in the village.</p> + +<p>He had resigned on account of her health, I was told. It must have been +a hasty flitting or an inconclusive one. The odd, attractive rooms were +full of their belongings still. We two casual bachelors with our +circumspect habits could make no impression on the all but speaking +silence of those empty rooms. They filled me at times with a curious +emotion of sadness and unrest.</p> + +<p>Joshua seldom talked of the Flemings, though I knew he received letters +from them. That he was deeply attached to their memory, hoarded it and +brooded over it, I could not doubt. I even suspected some jealous +sentiment on his part which made it hard for him to see me using their +chairs, planting myself amongst their cushions and investigating their +book-shelves. I thought it strange they had left so many things behind +them of a personal nature. They seemed to have ceased to care for what +most of us rolling stones are wont to cling to. Their departure had +something unspeakable in it—akin to sudden death, or a sickness of the +heart that made life indifferent to them.</p> + +<p>"They must have loved this room!" I said to him one evening. It was +during the black rains of February—Dean and I with our chairs to the +fire, waiting for the Eastern mail. The night watchman's orders were to +stop for it if the trains were anywhere near on time. At this storm +season the Westbound was frequently behind and the road to town a +quagmire. We never looked for Fahey—he was the man I found there as +night watchman—before eight o'clock. It had rained and snowed off and +on since the month began. In the dark, low rooms the fire burned all +day. The dining-room, which had blue-green walls in imitation of Flemish +tapestry and weathered-oak furniture, was darkened still more by the +pines that gave a cloistered look to the view from our back windows into +a small, square court, high-walled and spread with pine-needles. The +rooms we used were two small ones united, done in white and yellow and +with slim curtains which we could crush back upon the rods; but even +there one could not see to read by daylight. This continuous, arctic +gloom added, no doubt, to the melancholy spell of the house, which +nevertheless charmed me, and held me almost with a sense of impalpable +presences sharing with Joshua and me our intimate, wistful seclusion. If +I was happy, in a luxuriously mournful sort of way, I knew that he was +not—that he grieved persistently over something that cast a greyness +over his thoughts in keeping with the atmosphere. I knew that he knew +without any names whom I meant whenever I spoke of <i>they</i>.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they loved it," he said, answering my exclamation. "They made it, +somehow, as character is said to shape its own set of features."</p> + +<p>"Had they lived here long?"</p> + +<p>"For a mine house, yes. It was, of course, a home. They had no other."</p> + +<p>"A happy one?" I ventured.</p> + +<p>"Can any one be called happy who has the gift of strong feeling, and +two children at stake, in this world?" I had never heard him speak with +such bitterness.</p> + +<p>"But to have any one to feel for—that is life," I said. "I wish I had +more of it myself."</p> + +<p>"Life, then, is not happiness."</p> + +<p>I left him the last word, and sitting so, both silent, we heard a +screen-door at the kitchen-end blow to with a bang and a clatter of +tinware that sent the blood to my face in wrath. I said something—about +Jim and his fly-doors (Jim believed that flies or their ghosts besieged +that house all winter)—when the old heathen himself came boiling into +the room like a whole United States mail service delayed.</p> + +<p>"Hoo! Heap bad ou'si'! Heap snow!" he panted, wiping drops from the lock +of the mail-pouch with his apron.</p> + +<p>My wrath increased, because once more Fahey had got past the front door +with the mail, whereas each night I had promised myself to waylay him +and change his roundabout method of delivery. "If I live till tomorrow," +I said crossly, "I'll see if he can't climb those steps and hand us the +bag himself."</p> + +<p>Jim stood listening. "We might be at dinner," Joshua suggested.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with knocking?—what is the knocker for?" It struck +me, as I spoke, that I had not heard the sound of the knocker since the +day Jim stayed my own hand and shunted me in at the side; it seemed he +must have practised the same vigilance with subsequent comers, for I +could not recall one person who had entered the house announced by the +brass lion's head on the door.</p> + +<p>"<i>He</i> no lock!" Jim planted himself in front of me; his voice quavered +nervously. "All time I <i>un</i>-lock! Fi' 'tlock whistle blow—I go quick! +Nobody wait. I all time run."</p> + +<p>"Why should you run? What is the knocker for?" I repeated. At this I +stepped past him startling him somewhat, and hurled open the front door. +I had heard our coy watchman going down the path.</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow night, Fahey," I shouted, "you bring the bag in this way. +Knock, man! There's the knocker—see?"</p> + +<p>Jim looked at me with eyes aghast. He gathered himself for speech, +breathing deeply.</p> + +<p>"Mis' Oth' (my name is Othet), I tell you: Long time-<i>long</i> time, no man +knock flon' do'. In this house, no good. No good knock. Sometime +some-come-you no man see!" He lowered his voice to a rapid whisper, +spreading his yellow palms tremulously. "You tell man come knock flon' +do'—I go 'way. Too much bad thing!"</p> + +<p>Muttering to himself he retreated. "Now what has he got on his mind do +you suppose? Could you make out what he was driving at?"</p> + +<p>Dean smiled, a non-committal smile. "It would be rather awkward for us, +wouldn't it, if Jim should leave? We are too far from the coast for city +servants in winter. I doubt if any of the natives could be persuaded to +stay in this house alone."</p> + +<p>"You think Jim would leave if I made Fahey knock at that door every +night?"</p> + +<p>Joshua answered me obliquely. "If I could ever quote anything straight, +I would remind you of a saying in one of George Eliot's novels that +'we've all got to take a little trouble to keep sane and call things by +the same names as other people.' Perhaps Jim doesn't take quite trouble +enough. I have difficulty sometimes myself to find names for things. I +should like to hear you classify a certain occurrence I have in mind, +not unconnected, I think, with Jim's behavior tonight. I've never +discussed it, of course. In fact, I've never spoken of it before." He +smiled queerly. "It's very astonishing how they know things."</p> + +<p>"The menials?"</p> + +<p>He nodded. "Jim was in the house at the time. No one knows that he heard +it,—no one ever told him. But he is thinking of it tonight just as I +am. He's never forgotten it for a moment, and never will."</p> + +<p>Joshua dragged the charred logs forward and stooped amid their sparks to +lay a fresh one with its back to the chimney. Then he rose and looked +out; as he stood in the door, I could hear the hissing of fine snow +turning to rain and the drenched bamboo whipping the piazza posts; over +all, the larger lament of the pines, and, from the long rows of lights +in the gulch, the diapason of the stamp-heads thundering on through the +night.</p> + +<p>"'Identities of sensation,'" said Joshua, quoting again as he shut the +door, "are strong with persons who live in lonely places! Jim and I have +lived here too long."</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope you won't live here another moment till you have told me +that story," I urged, and we drew again to the fire.</p> + +<p>"There was a watchman here before Fahey," he began, "an old plainsman, +with a Bible name, Gideon. He looked like the pictures of old +Ossawattamie Brown, and he had for the Flemings a most unusual regard. +It was as strong as his love for his family. It was because of what +Fleming did for his son, young Gid, when they caught him stealing +specimens with a gang of old offenders. Gid was nineteen, and a pretty +good boy, we thought. Such things happen between men of the right sort +every day, I suppose,—Fleming would say so. But it was his opportunity +to do it for a man who could feel and remember, and he made a friend for +life right there. It is too long a story to tell, but young Gid's all +right—working in the city, married and happy,—trusted like any other +man. It wasn't in the blood, you see.</p> + +<p>"Before his boy got into trouble, Fleming used to call the old man +'Gideon,' talked to him any old way; but after his pride fell down it +was always 'Mr. Gideon,' and a few words when he brought the mail, about +the weather or the conduct of the trains. The old man appeared to stand +taller in those moments at the door, when he brought to the house the +very food of its existence. They lived upon their letters, for both the +children were away. The army boy in the Philippines; it was during the +Mindanao campaign; and Constance (Joshua, I noticed, took a deep breath +before the name), the daughter, was at school in the East. Gideon could +gauge the spirits of the two, waiting here for what he brought them. He +kept tally of the soldier's letters, the thin blue ones that came +strolling in by the transport lines. But hers—her letters were his +pride.</p> + +<p>"'It's there all right,' he would say—'she never misses a Monday mail, +the little one!' or, as the winter months wore on—'you'll be counting +the weeks now, madam. Six more letters and then the telegram from Ogden, +and I hope it's my privilege to bring it, madam.' For as Fleming gave +him his title, the old man passed it back with a glow of emphasis, +putting devotion into the 'madam' and life service into the 'Mr. +Fleming, sir.'</p> + +<p>"Then she came home—Constance—she was no longer the little one. Taller +than her mother, and rather silent, but her looks were a language, and +her motions about the house—I suppose no words could measure their +pride in her, or their shrinking when they thought of her in contact +with the world. People laughed a little, looking at her, when her mother +talked of the years they were going to have together. And she would +rebuke the laugh and say, 'We do not marry early in my family, nor the +Flemings either.' When the August heat came on, they thought she was too +pale—they spared her for a visit to some friends who had a houseboat +off Belvedere, or some such place. It was an ambush of fate. She came +home, thin, brown, from living on the water,—happy! too happy for +safety. She brought her fate with her, the last man you'd suppose could +ever cross her path. He was from Hawaii, an Englishman—not all English, +some of us thought. Handsome as a snake; a face that kept no marks. Eyes +all black—nothing of the pupil showing. They say such eyes are not to +be trusted. I never liked him. I'd better not try to describe him.</p> + +<p>"It seemed madness to me, but I suppose they were no more helpless than +other fathers and mothers. He had plenty to say for himself, and +introductions—all sorts of credentials, except a pair of eyes. They had +to let it go on; and he took her away from them six months after she saw +him first. That's happiness, if you call it so!"</p> + +<p>Again I added, "It is life."</p> + +<p>"There was not much left of it in this house after she went," Joshua +mused. "It was then they asked me to come up and stay with them. A +silence of three does not press quite so close as a silence of two. And +we talked sometimes. The mine had taken a great jump; it was almost a +mockery the way things boomed. The letters, I noticed, were not what the +schoolgirl letters had been to her mother. They came all right, they +were punctual, but something I felt sure was wrong. Mrs. Fleming would +not have missed a mail for anything in the world—every hour's delay +wore upon her. She would play her game of solitaire, long after bedtime, +at that desk by the drop-light. It seemed she could not read; nothing +held her. She was irritable with Fleming, and then she would pet him +piteously to make up. He was always gentle. He would watch her over his +book as she walked up and down in the back room in the light between the +dining-room curtains. If he saw I noticed, he'd look away and begin to +talk.</p> + +<p>"I have gone a little ahead of my story, for this was after the dark +weather came on and the mails were behind; we knew there was some new +strain on her spirits. You could see her face grow small and her flesh +waste away.</p> + +<p>"One night we sat here, Fleming and I, and she was pacing in her soft, +weary way in the back of the room. There came a knock. It was Gideon's, +yet none of us heard the gate click nor any step outside. She stood +back, for she never showed any impatience—she tried to pretend that she +expected nothing. Fleming opened the door; he stood there an instant +looking out.</p> + +<p>"'Didn't you hear a knock?' he asked me. Before I could answer he went +outside, closing the door, and we heard him go down the steps slowly.</p> + +<p>"When he came in he merely said, 'A jar of wind.</p> + +<p>"'A jar of wind!' Mrs. Fleming mocked him. The knock came again as she +spoke. Once, twice, then the light tap: I have described Gideon's knock. +We did not pretend again it was the wind.</p> + +<p>"'You go this time;' Fleming tried to laugh. 'See if there is anything +doing.'</p> + +<p>"There was nothing doing whatever, and nothing to be seen. I turned on +the electrics outside, and Fleming, seeing the light, came out to join +me. I asked him if those were his tracks—a man's footsteps could be +seen printed in the fresh, light snow as far as the lowest step and +back. All beyond, where the light streamed down the path to the gate, +was sky-fresh snow softly laid without wind. 'Those are my tracks,' he +said. 'There were no others before—sure,' he repeated, 'and there is no +one down at the gate. You need not go down there. Say nothing to her,' +he continued as we re-opened the door.</p> + +<p>"She was expecting us. She was very pale but half smiling, braving it +out. She fixed her eyes on Fleming and then on me. 'Did you not <i>both</i> +hear that knock?' As she spoke it came again. I stood nearest the door; +I hurled it open. Absolutely nothing. The lights, burning in a silly +way, made shadows on the steps. Not a mark, not even a leaf-track on the +path we could see below.</p> + +<p>"I went over to the telephone and called up the post-office. What +happened at the house in absence I do not know. I found the drawing-room +empty; Fleming joined me coming from his wife's room.</p> + +<p>"'She is fearfully upset by that knocking,' he said. 'Can't we think up +some explanation?'</p> + +<p>"I feared he would have less courage for inventing explanations after +what I had to tell him.</p> + +<p>"I had followed the track of a horse and cart to the stable and found +Gideon's old mare at her hitching-post; the cart was empty, the muddy +lap-robe dragging over the wheel. At the post-office they told me Gideon +had started for the mine an hour and a half ago. 'Hasn't he got out +there with that telegram yet?' they added. From the telegraph office, +where they knew Gideon's hours, they had sent a message across to the +post-office to be carried out by him with the mail. The voice on the +telephone remarked, 'I guess they ought to get that wire pretty soon. It +was marked <i>Important.'</i></p> + +<p>"Fleming was cold and shaking as he listened. 'Drive back along the road +through the woods, Joshua'—he seldom called me by that name. 'I think +something has happened to the old man. His knock is on duty tonight, but +where is he?'</p> + +<p>"It came again, and following it a low cry from passage behind closed +doors. 'She heard it too,' said Fleming. And he went to his wife.</p> + +<p>"I called up the landing-man to help me—Tommy Briscoe; I knew he +wouldn't spread any talk about. The search was not long. A lantern +burning by itself in the woods showed us where he had stopped the cart +and half turned and tramped around in the snow. He'd dropped the bag +out, probably, missed it and looked for it on foot, setting his lantern +down. He'd gone back quite a bit along the road, and, coming back with +it, the light in his eyes, he had made a misstep, and the shaft—the old +Granite Hill shaft, you know—it's close to the road. We found him in +the sump at the bottom. There had been too much rain, but it is a deep +shaft anyway. He kept his hold on the bag, and he kept his senses long +enough to hook it onto a poor little stray pine-root above the water, +where he died. It was a cruel death, but his face was good to look at."</p> + +<p>"And the telegram?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"It was safe. He'd saved everything, except himself. They were driven +over to Colfax that night, with not a moment to spare——"</p> + +<p>"But you haven't told me what it was."</p> + +<p>"The message? Yes, it was from her, Constance—sent from an address in +the city. It said—I suppose I may repeat it. It is part of the night's +work.</p> + +<p>"'Come to me, mother,' it said. 'I am here. I need you.'"</p> + +<p>"And they were in time?"</p> + +<p>"To bid her good-by," said Joshua. "There was no hope for her but in +death. Of course, they never explained. She simply fled from—we don't +know what. As long as she could she bore it without complaint, and then +she came home. She had them both with her and she knew them.</p> + +<p>"I believe they were willing to give her up. It was the only solution +left. They were very fixed in their ideas about divorce, and what comes +after. They believed in staking all or nothing and abiding the result. +The logic of her choice was death. They saw her free, without a stain, +without an obligation in this life even to her child, for it lay dead +beside her. They did grieve for that. They wanted it to live. It would +have been something—yet, I believe, even that was best.</p> + +<p>"They lived on here for a while, if you call it living; but the silence +in these rooms was more than she could endure. And I need not tell you +that the watchman, who was put on after Gideon, had orders to leave that +knocker alone."</p> + +<p>"And you think," I asked, "that while Gideon lay dead at the bottom of +the shaft, his knock was 'marching on'?" I regretted instantly the turn +of my last sentence. Joshua stiffened as he replied:</p> + +<p>"No; I cannot assert that he was dead, but I am convinced that what was +left of him, of his mortal—or immortal—consciousness, was not +concerned with himself. What may happen to us at that last boundary post +is one of the mysteries no man can solve till he gets there."</p> + +<p>"Joshua," I said, "the drift of your conclusion is a tribute to Gideon's +faithfulness—well deserved I have no doubt. But if you'll allow me to +say so, it is not a tribute to the healthy state of your mind. I regret +to say it, but I fear that I agree with you: I think you have lived in +this house too long."</p> + +<p>"If I had lived here too long for any other reason," he answered gently, +"enough has been said. It is better we should understand each other. +But, as to my mind—I prefer to keep it unhealthy, if by that you mean +the tendency to project it a little further than reason, founded on such +laws of the universe as we know, can help us. Healthy minds are such as +accept things—endeavor to forget what gives immeasurable pain. I prefer +the pain."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="A_YELLOW_MAN_AND_A_WHITE" id="A_YELLOW_MAN_AND_A_WHITE"></a><a href="#toc">A YELLOW MAN AND<br />A WHITE</a></h2> +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">ELEANOR GATES</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>Scribner's Magazine</i> of June, 1905 by permission</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/f.jpg" alt="F" /></span>ONG WU sat on the porch of his little square-fronted house, chanting +into the twilight. Across his padded blouse of purple silk lay his +<i>sam-yen</i> banjo. And as, from time to time, his hymn to the Three Pure +Ones was prolonged in high, fine quavers, like the uneven, squeaky notes +of a woman's voice, he ran his left hand up the slender neck of the +instrument, rested a long nail of his right on its taut, snake's-skin +head, and lightly touched the strings; then, in quick, thin tones, they +followed the song to Sang-Ching.</p> + +<p>The warm shadows of a California summer night were settling down over +the wooded hills and rocky gulches about Fong Wu's, and there was little +but his music to break the silence. Long since, the chickens had +sleepily sought perches in the hen yard, with its high wall of rooty +stumps and shakes, and on the branches of the Digger pine that towered +beside it. Up the dry creek bed, a mile away, twinkled the lights of +Whiskeytown; but no sounds from the homes of the white people came down +to the lonely Chinese. If his clear treble was interrupted, it was by +the cracking of a dry branch as a cottontail sped past on its way to a +stagnant pool, or it was by a dark-emboldened coyote, howling, +dog-like, at the moon which, white as the snow that eternally coifs the +Sierras, was just rising above their distant, cobalt line.</p> + +<p>One year before, Fong Wu, heavily laden with his effects, had slipped +out of the stage from Redding and found his way to a forsaken, +ramshackle building below Whiskeytown. His coming had proved of small +interest. When the news finally got about that "a monkey" was living in +"Sam Kennedy's old place," it was thought, for a while, that laundering, +thereafter, would be cheaply done. This hope, however, was soon +dispelled. For, shortly after his arrival, as Fong Wu asked at the +grocery store for mail, he met Radigan's inquiry of "You do my washee, +John?" with a grave shake of the head. Similar questions from others +were met, later, in a similar way. Soon it became generally known that +the "monkey at Sam Kennedy's" did not do washing; so he was troubled no +further.</p> + +<p>Yet if Fong Wu did not work for the people of Whiskeytown, he was not, +therefore, idle. Many a sunrise found him wandering through the +chaparral thickets back of his house, digging here and there in the red +soil for roots and herbs. These he took home, washed, tasted, and, +perhaps, dried. His mornings were mainly spent in cooking for his +abundantly supplied table, in tending his fowls and house, and in making +spotless and ironing smooth various undergarments—generous of sleeve +and leg.</p> + +<p>But of an afternoon, all petty duties were laid aside, and he sorted +carefully into place upon his shelves numerous little bunches and boxes +of dried herbs and numerous tiny phials of pungent liquid that had come +to him by post; he filled wide sheets of foolscap with vertical lines of +queer characters and consigned them to big, plainly addressed, +well-stamped envelopes; he scanned closely the last newspapers from San +Francisco, and read from volumes in divers tongues, and he poured over +the treasured Taoist book, "The Road to Virtue."</p> + +<p>Sunday was his one break in the week's routine. Then, the coolies who +panned or cradled for gold in tailings of near-by abandoned mines, +gathered at Fong Wu's. On such occasions, there was endless, lively +chatter, a steady exchange of barbering—one man scraping another clean, +to be, in turn, made hairless in a broad band about the poll and on +cheek and chin—and much consuming of tasty chicken, dried fish, pork, +rice, and melon seeds. To supplement all this, Fong Wu recounted the +news: the arrival of a consul in San Francisco, the raid on a slave—or +gambling-den, the progress of a tong war under the very noses of the +baffled police, and the growth of Coast feeling against the continued, +quiet immigration of Chinese. But of the social or political affairs of +the Flowery Kingdom—of his own land beyond the sea—Fong Wu was +consistently silent.</p> + +<p>Added to his Sunday responsibilities as host and purveyor of news, Fong +Wu had others. An ailing countryman, whether seized with malaria or +suffering from an injury, found ready and efficient attention. The bark +of dogwood, properly cooked, gave a liquid that killed the ague; and oil +from a diminutive bottle, or a red powder whetted upon the skin with a +silver piece, brought out the soreness of a bruise.</p> + +<p>Thus, keeping his house, herb-hunting, writing, studying, entertaining, +doctoring, Fong Wu lived on at Whiskeytown.</p> + +<p>Each evening, daintily manipulating ivory chopsticks, he ate his supper +of rice out of a dragon-bordered bowl. Then, when he had poured tea from +a pot all gold-encrusted—a cluster of blossoms nodding in a vase at his +shoulder the while—he went out upon the porch of the square-fronted +house.</p> + +<p>And there, as now, a scarlet-buttoned cap on his head, his black eyes +soft with dreaming, his richly wrought sandals tapping the floor in +time, his long queue—a smooth, shining serpent—in thick coils about +his tawny neck, Fong Wu thrummed gently upon the three-stringed banjo, +and, in peace, chanted into the twilight.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>Flying hoofs scattered the gravel on the strip of road before Fong Wu's. +He looked through the gloom and saw a horse flash past, carrying a +skirted rider toward Whiskeytown. His song died out. He let his banjo +slip down until its round head rested between his feet. Then he turned +his face up the gulch.</p> + +<p>Despite the dusk, he knew the traveler: Mrs. Anthony Barrett, who, with +her husband, had recently come to live in a house near Stillwater. Every +evening, when the heat was over, she went by, bound for the day's mail +at the post-office. Every evening, in the cool, Fong Wu saw her go, and +sometimes she gave him a friendly nod.</p> + +<p>Her mount was a spirited, mouse-dun mustang, with crop-ears, a roached +mane, and the back markings of a mule. She always rode at a run, +sitting with easy erectness. A wide army hat rested snugly on her fair +hair, and shaded a white forehead and level-looking eyes. But +notwithstanding the sheltering brim, on her girlish face were set the +glowing, scarlet seals of wind and sun.</p> + +<p>As he peered townward after her, Fong Wu heard the hurrying hoof-beats +grow gradually fainter and fainter—and cease. Presently the moon topped +the pines on the foot-hills behind him, bathing the gulch in light. The +road down which she would come sprang into view. He watched its farthest +open point. In a few moments the hoof-beats began again. Soon the glint +of a light waist showed through the trees. Next, horse and rider rounded +a curve at hand. Fong Wu leaned far forward.</p> + +<p>And then, just as the mustang gained the strip of road before the +square-fronted house, it gave a sudden, unlooked-for, outward leap, +reared with a wild snort, and, whirling, dashed past the +porch—riderless.</p> + +<p>With an exclamation, Fong Wu flung his banjo aside and ran to the road. +There under a manzanita bush, huddled and still, lay a figure. He caught +it up, bore it to the porch, and put it gently down.</p> + +<p>A brief examination, made with the deftness practise gives, showed him +that no bones were broken. Squatting beside the unconscious woman, he +next played slowly with his long-nailed fingers upon her pulse. Its beat +reassured him. He lighted a lamp and held it above her. The scarlet of +her cheeks was returning.</p> + +<p>The sight of her, who was so strong and active, stretched weak and +fainting, compelled Fong Wu into spoken comment. "The petal of a plum +blossom," he said compassionately, in his own tongue.</p> + +<p>She stirred a little. He moved back. As, reviving, she opened her eyes, +they fell upon him. But he was half turned away, his face as blank and +lifeless as a mask.</p> + +<p>She gave a startled cry and sat up. "Me hurtee?" she asked him, adopting +pidgin-English "Me fallee off?"</p> + +<p>Fong Wu rose. "You were thrown," he answered gravely.</p> + +<p>She colored in confusion. "Pardon me," she said, "for speaking to you as +if you were a coolie." Then, as she got feebly to her feet—"I believe +my right arm is broken."</p> + +<p>"I have some knowledge of healing," he declared; "let me look at it." +Before she could answer, he had ripped the sleeve away. "It is only a +sprain," he said. "Wait." He went inside for an amber liquid and +bandages. When he had laved the injured muscles, he bound them round.</p> + +<p>"How did it happen?" she asked, as he worked. He was so courteous and +professional that her alarm was gone.</p> + +<p>"Your horse was frightened by a rattler in the road. I heard it whir."</p> + +<p>She shuddered. "I ought to be thankful that I didn't come my cropper on +it," she said, laughing nervously.</p> + +<p>He went inside again, this time to prepare a cupful of herbs. When he +offered her the draught, she screwed up her face over its nauseating +fumes.</p> + +<p>"If that acts as strongly as it tastes," she said, after she had drunk +it, "I'll be well soon."</p> + +<p>"It is to keep away inflammation."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Can I go now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But tomorrow return, and I will look at the arm." He took the lamp +away and replaced his red-buttoned cap with a black felt hat. Then he +silently preceded her down the steps to the road. Only when the light of +her home shone plainly ahead of them, did he leave her.</p> + +<p>They had not spoken on the way. But as he bowed a good night, she +addressed him. "I thank you," she said. "And may I ask your name?"</p> + +<p>"Kwa"—he began, and stopped. Emotion for an instant softened his +impassive countenance. He turned away. "Fong Wu," he added, and was +gone.</p> + +<p>The following afternoon the crunch of cart wheels before the +square-fronted house announced her coming. Fong Wu closed "The Book of +Virtue," and stepped out upon the porch.</p> + +<p>A white man was seated beside her in the vehicle. As she sprang from it, +light-footed and smiling, and mounted the steps, she indicated him +politely to the Chinese.</p> + +<p>"This is my husband," she said. "I have told him how kind you were to me +last night."</p> + +<p>Fong Wu nodded.</p> + +<p>Barrett hastened to voice his gratitude. "I certainly am very much +obliged to you," he said. "My wife might have been bitten by the +rattler, or she might have lain all night in pain if you hadn't found +her. And I want to say that your treatment was splendid. Why, her arm +hasn't swollen or hurt her. I'll be hanged if I can see—you're such a +good doctor—why you stay in this——"</p> + +<p>Fong Wu interrupted him. "I will wet the bandage with medicine," he +said, and entered the house.</p> + +<p>They watched him with some curiosity as he treated the sprain and +studied the pulse. When he brought out her second cup of steaming herbs, +Mrs. Barrett looked up at him brightly.</p> + +<p>"You know we're up here for Mr. Barrett's health," she said. "A year or +so after we were married, he was hurt in a railway collision. Since +then, though his wounds healed nicely, he has never been quite well. Dr. +Lord, our family physician, prescribed plenty of rough work, and a quiet +place, far from the excitement of a town or city. Now, all this morning, +when I realized how wonderful it was that my arm wasn't aching, I've +been urging my husband—what do you suppose?—to come and be examined by +you!"</p> + +<p>Fong Wu, for the first time, looked fully at the white man, marking the +sallow, clayey face, with its dry, lined skin, its lusterless eyes and +drooping lids.</p> + +<p>Barrett scowled at his wife. "Nonsense, dear," he said crossly; "you +know very well that Lord would never forgive me."</p> + +<p>"But Fong Wu might help you," she declared.</p> + +<p>Fong Wu's black eyes were still fixed searchingly upon the white man. +Before their scrutiny, soul-deep, the other's faltered and fell.</p> + +<p>"You might help him, mightn't you, Fong Wu?" Mrs. Barrett repeated.</p> + +<p>An expression, curious, keen, and full of meaning, was the answer. Then, +"I might if he——" Fong Wu said, and paused.</p> + +<p>Past Mrs. Barrett, whose back was toward her husband, the latter had +shot a warning glance. "Come, come, Edith," he cried irritably; "let's +get home."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Barrett emptied her cup bravely. "When shall we call again?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>"You need not come again," Fong Wu replied. "Each day you have only to +dampen the bandages from these." He handed her a green-flowered box +containing twelve tiny compartments; in each was a phial.</p> + +<p>"And I sha'n't have to take any more of this—this awful stuff?" she +demanded gaily, giving back the cup.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Ah! And now, I want to thank you again, with all my heart. Here,"—she +reached into the pocket of her walking-skirt,—"here is something for +your trouble." Two double-eagles lay on her open palm.</p> + +<p>Fong Wu frowned at them. "I take no money," he said, a trifle gruffly. +And as she got into the cart, he closed the door of his home behind him.</p> + +<p>It was a week before Mrs. Barrett again took up her rides for the mail. +When she did, Fong Wu did not fail to be on his porch as she passed. For +each evening, as she cantered up the road, spurring the mustang to its +best paces, she reined to speak to him. And he met her greetings with +unaccustomed good humor.</p> + +<p>Then she went by one morning before sunrise, riding like the wind. A +little later she repassed, whipping her horse at every gallop. Fong Wu, +called to his door by the clatter, saw that her face was white and +drawn. At noon, going up to the post-office, he heard a bit of gossip +that seemed to bear upon her unwonted trip. Radigan was rehearsing it +excitedly to his wife, and the Chinese busied himself with his mail and +listened—apparently unconcerned.</p> + +<p>"I c'n tell you she ain't afraid of anythin', that Mrs. Barrett," the +post-master was saying; "neither th' cayuse she rides or a critter on +two legs. An' that fancy little drug-clerk from 'Frisco got it straight +from th' shoulder."</p> + +<p>"S-s-sh!" admonished his wife, from the back of the office. "Isn't there +some one outside?"</p> + +<p>"Naw, just th' chink from Kennedy's. Well, as I remarked, she did jus' +light into that dude. 'It was criminal!' she says, an' her eyes snapped +like a whip; 'it was criminal! an' if I find out for sure that you are +guilty, I'll put you where you'll never do it again.' Th' young gent +smirked at her an' squirmed like a worm. 'You're wrong, Mrs. Barrett,' +he says, lookin' like th' meek puppy he is, 'an' you'll have t' look +some place else for th' person that done it.' But she wouldn't talk no +longer—jus' walked out, as mad as a hornet."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," mused Mrs. Radigan. "I wonder what 'twas all about. +'Criminal,' she said, eh? That's funny!" She walked to the front of the +office and peeked through the wicket. But no one was loitering near +except Fong Wu, and his face was the picture of dull indifference.</p> + +<p>That night, long after the hour for Mrs. Barrett's regular trip, and +long past the time for his supper-song, Fong Wu heard slow, shuffling +steps approach the house. A moment afterward, the knob of his door was +rattled. He put out his light and slipped a knife into his loose sleeve.</p> + +<p>After some fumbling and moving about on the porch, a man called out to +him. He recognized the voice.</p> + +<p>"Fong Wu! Fong Wu!" it begged. "Let me in. I want to see you; I want to +ask you for help—for something I need. Let me in; let me in."</p> + +<p>Fong Wu, without answering, relit his lamp, and, with the air of one who +is at the same time both relieved and a witness of the expected, flung +the door wide.</p> + +<p>Then into the room, writhing as if in fearful agony, his hands palsied, +his face a-drip and, except for dark blotches about the mouth, +green-hued, his eyes wild and sunken, fell, rather than tottered, +Anthony Barrett.</p> + +<p>"Fong Wu," he pleaded, from the floor at the other's feet, "you helped +my wife when she was sick, now help me. I'm dying! I'm dying! Give it to +me, for God's sake! give it to me." He caught at the skirt of Fong Wu's +blouse.</p> + +<p>The Chinese retreated a little, scowling. "What do you want?" he asked.</p> + +<p>A paroxysm of pain seized Barrett. He half rose and stumbled forward. +"You know," he panted, "you know. And if I don't have some, I'll die. I +can't get it anywhere else. She's found me out, and scared the +drug-clerk. Oh, just a little, old man, just a little!" He sank to the +floor again.</p> + +<p>"I can give you nothing," said Fong Wu bluntly. "I do not keep—what you +want."</p> + +<p>With a curse, Barrett was up again. "Oh, you don't," he screamed, +leering frenziedly. "You yellow devil! You almond-eyed pigtail! But I +know you do! And I must have it. Quick! quick!" He hung, clutching, on +the edge of Fong Wu's wide ironing-table, an ashen wreck.</p> + +<p>Fong Wu shook his head.</p> + +<p>With a cry, Barrett came at him and seized his lean throat. "You damned +highbinder!" he gasped. "You saddle-nosed monkey! You'll get me what I +want or I'll give you away. Don't I know why you're up here in these +woods, with your pretty clothes and your English talk? A<i>-ha</i>! You bet I +do! You're hiding, and you're wanted,"—he dropped his voice to a +whisper,—"the tongs would pay head-money for you. If you don't give it +to me, I'll put every fiend in 'Frisco on your trail."</p> + +<p>Fong Wu had caught Barrett's wrists. Now he cast him to one side. +"Tongs!" he said with a shrug, as if they were beneath his notice. And +"Fiends!" he repeated contemptuously, a taunt in his voice.</p> + +<p>The white man had fallen prone and was grovelling weakly. "Oh, I won't +tell on you," he wailed imploringly. "I won't, I won't, Fong Wu; I swear +it on my honor."</p> + +<p>Fong Wu grunted and reached to a handy shelf. "I will make a bargain +with you," he said craftily; "first, you are to drink what I wish."</p> + +<p>"Anything! anything!" Barrett cried.</p> + +<p>From a box of dry herbs, long untouched, the Chinese drew out a handful. +There was no time for brewing. Outraged nature demanded instant relief. +He dropped them into a bowl, covered them with water, and stirred +swiftly. When the stems and leaves were broken up and well mixed, he +strained brown liquid from them and put it to the other's lips.</p> + +<p>"Drink," he commanded, steadying the shaking head.</p> + +<p>Barrett drank, unquestioningly.</p> + +<p>Instantly the potion worked. Calmed as if by a miracle, made drowsy to a +point where speech was impossible, the white man, tortured but a moment +before, tipped sleepily into Fong Wu's arms. The Chinese waited until a +full effect was secured, when he lifted his limp patient to the +blanket-covered ironing-table. Then he went out for fuel, built a fire, +and, humming softly—with no fear of waking the other—sat down to watch +the steeping of more herbs.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>What happened next at the square-fronted house was the unexpected. Again +there was a sound of approaching footsteps, again some one gained the +porch. But this time there was no pausing to ask for admission, there +were no weak requests for aid. A swift hand felt for the knob and found +it; a strong arm pushed at the unlocked door. And through it, +bare-headed, with burning eyes and blanched cheeks, her heavy +riding-whip dangling by a thong from her wrist, came the wife of Anthony +Barrett.</p> + +<p>Just across the sill she halted and swept the dim room. A moment, and +the burning eyes fell upon the freighted ironing-table. She gave a +piercing cry.</p> + +<p>Fong Wu neither spoke nor moved.</p> + +<p>After the first outburst, she was quiet—the quiet that is deliberative, +threatening. Then she slowly closed her fingers about the whip butt. +Fixing her gaze in passionate anger upon him, she advanced a few steps.</p> + +<p><i>"So it was you,"</i> she said, and her voice was hollow.</p> + +<p>To that he made no sign, and even his colorless face told nothing.</p> + +<p>She came forward a little farther, and sucked in a long, deep breath. +"You <i>dog</i> of a Chinaman!" she said at last, and struck her +riding-skirt.</p> + +<p>Fong Wu answered silently. With an imperative gesture, he pointed out +the figure on the ironing-table.</p> + +<p>She sprang to her husband's side and bent over him. Presently she began +to murmur to herself. When, finally, she turned, there were tears on her +lashes, she was trembling visibly, and she spoke in whispers.</p> + +<p>"Was I wrong?" she demanded brokenly. "I <i>must</i> have been. He's not had +it; I can tell by his quick, easy breathing. And his ear has a faint +color. You are trying to help him! I know! I know!"</p> + +<p>A gleaming white line showed between the yellow of Fong Wu's lips. He +picked up a rude stool and set it by the table. She sank weakly upon it, +letting the whip fall.</p> + +<p>"Thank God! thank God!" she sobbed prayerfully, and buried her face in +her arms.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center n"><a name="petal" id="petal"></a><img src="images/image108.jpg" alt="header" width="40%" /><br /> +<span class="smcap">"The petal of a plum blossom.</span>"<br /><br /> +From a Painting by Albertine Randall, Wheelan.</p> +<p> </p> + +<p>Throughout the long hours that followed, Fong Wu, from the room's +shadowy rear, sat watching. He knew sleep did not come to her. For now +and then he saw her shake from head to heel convulsively, as he had seen +men in his own country quiver +beneath the scourge of bamboos. Now and then, too, he heard her give a +stifled moan, like the protest of a dumb creature. But in no other ways +did she bare her suffering. Quietly, lest she wake her husband, she +fought out the night.</p> + +<p>Only once did Fong Wu look away from her. Then, in anger and disgust his +eyes shifted to the figure on the table. "The petal of a plum +blossom"—he muttered in Chinese—"the petal of a plum blossom beneath +the hoofs of a pig!" And again his eyes dwelt upon the grief-bowed wife.</p> + +<p>But when the dawn came stealing up from behind the purple Sierras, and +Mrs. Barrett raised her wan face, he was studiously reviewing his rows +of bottles, outwardly unaware of her presence.</p> + +<p>"Fong Wu," she said, in a low voice, "when will he wake?"</p> + +<p>"When he is rested; at sunrise, maybe, or at noon."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"He will be feeble. I shall give him more medicine, and he will sleep +again."</p> + +<p>He rose and busied himself at the fire. Soon he approached her, bringing +the gold-encrusted teapot and a small, handleless cup.</p> + +<p>She drank thirstily, filling and emptying the cup many times. When she +was done, she made as if to go. "I shall see that everything is all +right at home," she told him. "After that, I shall come back." She +stooped and kissed her husband tenderly.</p> + +<p>Fong Wu opened the door for her, and she passed out. In the road, +unhitched, but waiting, stood the mustang. She mounted and rode away.</p> + +<p>When she returned, not long afterward, she was a new woman. She had +bathed her face and donned a fresh waist. Her eyes were alight, and the +scarlet was again flaming in her cheeks. Almost cheerfully, and +altogether hopefully, she resumed her post at the ironing-table.</p> + +<p>It was late in the afternoon before Barrett woke. But he made no attempt +to get up, and would not eat. Fong Wu administered another dose of +herbs, and without heeding his patient's expostulations. The latter, +after seeking his wife's hand, once more sank into sleep.</p> + +<p>Just before sunset, Fong Wu, who scorned to rest, prepared supper. +Gratefully Mrs. Barrett partook of some tender chicken and rice cakes. +When darkness shut down, they took up their second long vigil.</p> + +<p>But it was not the vigil of the previous night. She was able to think of +other things than her husband's condition and the doom that, of a +sudden, had menaced her happiness. Her spirits having risen, she was +correspondingly impatient of a protracted, oppressive stillness, and +looked about for an interruption, and for diversion. Across from her, a +celestial patrician in his blouse of purple silk and his red-buttoned +cap, sat Fong Wu. Consumed with curiosity—now that she had time to +observe him closely—she longed to lift the yellow, expressionless mask +from his face—a face which might have patterned that of an oriental +sphinx. At midnight, when he approached the table to satisfy himself of +Barrett's progress, and to assure her of it, she essayed a conversation.</p> + +<p>Glancing up at his laden shelves, she said, "I have been noticing your +medicines, and how many kinds there seem to be."</p> + +<p>"For each ailment that is visited upon man, earth offers a cure," he +answered. "Life would be a mock could Death, unchallenged, take it."</p> + +<p>"True. Have you found in the earth, then, the cure for each ailment of +man?"</p> + +<p>"For most, yes. They seek yet, where I learned the art of healing, an +antidote for the cobra's bite. I know of no other they lack."</p> + +<p>"Where you were taught they must know more than we of this country +know."</p> + +<p>Fong Wu gave his shoulders a characteristic shrug.</p> + +<p>"But," she continued, "you speak English so perfectly. Perhaps you were +taught that in this country."</p> + +<p>"No—in England. But the other, I was not."</p> + +<p>"In England! Well!"</p> + +<p>"I went there as a young man."</p> + +<p>"But these herbs, these medicines you have—they did not come from +England, did they?"</p> + +<p>He smiled. "Some came from the hills at our back." Then, crossing to his +shelves and reaching up, "This"—he touched a silk-covered package—"is +from Sumbawa in the Indian Sea; and this"—his finger was upon the cork +of a phial—"is from Feng-shan, Formosa; and other roots are taken in +winter from the lake of Ting-ting-hu, which is then dry; and still +others come from the far mountains of Chamur."</p> + +<p>"Do you know," Mrs. Barrett said tentatively, "I have always heard that +Chinese doctors give horrid things for medicine—sharks' teeth, frogs' +feet, lizards' tails, and—and all sorts of dreadful things."</p> + +<p>Fong Wu proffered no enlightenment.</p> + +<p>"I am glad," she went on, "that I have learned better."</p> + +<p>After a while she began again: "Doubtless there is other wonderful +knowledge, besides that about doctoring, which Chinese gentlemen +possess."</p> + +<p>Fong Wu gave her a swift glance. "The followers of Laou-Tsze know many +things," he replied, and moved into the shadows as if to close their +talk.</p> + +<p>Toward morning, when he again gave her some tea, she spoke of something +that she had been turning over in her mind for hours.</p> + +<p>"You would not take money for helping me when I was hurt," she said, +"and I presume you will refuse to take it for what you are doing now. +But I should like you to know that Mr. Barrett and I will always, always +be your friends. If"—she looked across at him, no more a part of his +rude surroundings than was she—"if ever there comes a time when we +could be of use to you, you have only to tell us. Please remember that."</p> + +<p>"I will remember."</p> + +<p>"I cannot help but feel," she went on, and with a sincere desire to +prove her gratitude, rather than to pry out any secret of his, "that you +do not belong here—that you are in more trouble than I am. For what can +a man of your rank have to do in a little town like this!"</p> + +<p>He was not displeased with her. "The ancient sage," he said slowly, +"mounted himself upon a black ox and disappeared into the western +wilderness of Thibet. Doubtless others, too, seek seclusion for much +thinking."</p> + +<p>"But you are not the hermit kind," she declared boldly. "You belong to +those who stay and fight. Yet here you are, separated from your people +and your people's graves—alone and sorrowful."</p> + +<p>"As for my living people, they are best without me; as for my people +dead, I neither worship their dust nor propitiate devils. The wise one +said, 'Why talk forever on of men who are long gone?'"</p> + +<p>"Yet——" she persisted.</p> + +<p>He left the stove and came near her. "You are a woman, but you know +much. You are right. My heart is heavy for a thing I cannot do—for the +shattered dreams of the men of Hukwang." He beat his palms together +noiselessly, and moved to and fro on soft sandals. "Those dreams were of +a young China that was to take the place of the old—but that died +unborn."</p> + +<p>She followed his words with growing interest. "I have heard of those +dreams," she answered; "they were called 'reform.'"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And now all the dreamers are gone. They had voyaged to glean at +Harvard, Yale, Cornell, and in the halls of Oxford. There were 'five +loyal and six learned,' and they shed their blood at the Chen Chih Gate. +One there was who died the death that is meted a slave at the court of +the Son of Heaven. And one there was"—his face shrank up, as if swiftly +aging; his eyes became dark, upturning slits; as one who fears pursuit, +he cast a look behind him—"and one there was who escaped beyond the +blood-bathed walls of the Hidden City and gained the Sumatra Coast. +Then, leaving Perak, in the Straits Settlements, he finally set foot +upon a shore where men, without terror, may reach toward higher things."</p> + +<p>"And was he followed?" she whispered, comprehending.</p> + +<p>"He fled quietly. For long are the claws of the she-panther crouched on +the throne of the Mings."</p> + +<p>Both fell silent. The Chinese went back to the stove, where the fire was +dying. The white woman, wide awake, and lost in the myriad of scenes his +tale had conjured, sat by the table, for once almost forgetful of her +charge.</p> + +<p>The dragging hours of darkness past, Anthony Barrett found sane +consciousness. He was pale, yet strengthened by his long sleep, and he +was hungry. Relieved and overjoyed, Mrs. Barrett ministered to him. When +he had eaten and drunk, she helped him from the table to the stool, and +thence to his feet. Her arm about him, she led him to the door. Fong Wu +had felt his pulse and it had ticked back the desired message, so he was +going home.</p> + +<p>"Each night you are to come," Fong Wu said, as he bade them good-by. +"And soon, very soon, you may go from here to the place from which you +came."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Barrett turned at the door. A plea for pardon in misjudging him, +thankfulness for his help, sympathy for his exile—all these shone from +her eyes. But words failed her. She held out her hand.</p> + +<p>He seemed not to see it; he kept his arms at his sides. A "dog of a +Chinaman" had best not take a woman's hand.</p> + +<p>She went out, guiding her husband's footsteps, and helped him climb upon +the mustang from the height of the narrow porch. Then, taking the horse +by the bridle, she moved away down the slope to the road.</p> + +<p>Fong Wu did not follow, but closed the door gently and went back to the +ironing-table. A handkerchief lay beside it—a dainty linen square that +she had left. He picked it up and held it before him by two corners. +From it there wafted a faint, sweet breath.</p> + +<p>Fong Wu let it flutter to the floor. "The perfume of a plum petal," he +said softly, in English; "the perfume of a plum petal."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="THE_JUDGMENT_OF_MAN" id="THE_JUDGMENT_OF_MAN"></a><a href="#toc">THE JUDGMENT OF MAN</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">JAMES HOPPER</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright</i>, 1906, by McClure, Phillips and Company</p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>Caybigan</i> by permission</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/w.jpg" alt="W" /></span>E WERE sitting around the big center table in the <i>sala</i> of the "House +of Guests" in Ilo-Ilo. We were teachers from Occidental Negros. It was +near Christmas; we had left our stations for the holidays—the cholera +had just swept them and the aftermath was not pleasant to +contemplate—and so we were leaning over the polished <i>narra</i> table, +sipping a sweet, false Spanish wine from which we drew, not a convivial +spirit, but rather a quiet, reflective gloom. All the shell shutters +were drawn back; we could see the tin-roofed city gleam and crackle with +the heat, and beyond the lithe line of cocoanuts, the iridescent sea, +tugging the heart with offer of coolness. But, all of us, we knew the +promise to be Fake, monumental Fake, knew the alluring depths to be hot +as corruption, and full of sharks.</p> + +<p>Somebody in a monotonous voice was cataloguing the dead, enumerating +those of us who had been conquered by the climate, by the work, or +through their own inward flaws. He mentioned Miller with some sort of +disparaging gesture, and then Carter of Balangilang, who had been very +silent, suddenly burst into speech with singular fury.</p> + +<p>"Who are you, to judge him?" he shouted. "Who are you, eh? Who are we, +anyway, to judge him?"</p> + +<p>Headlong outbursts from Carter were nothing new to us, so we took no +offense. Finally some one said, "Well, he's dead," with that tone that +signifies final judgment, the last, best, most charitable thing which +can be said of the man being weighed.</p> + +<p>But Carter did not stop there. "You didn't know him, did you?" he asked. +"You didn't know him; tell me now, <i>did</i> you know him?" He was still +extraordinarily angry.</p> + +<p>We did not answer. Really, we knew little of the dead man—excepting +that he was mean and small, and not worth knowing. He was mean, and he +was a coward; and to us in our uncompromising youth these were just the +unpardonable sins. Because of that we had left him alone; yes, come to +think of it, very much alone. And we knew little about him.</p> + +<p>"Here, I'll tell you what I know," Carter began again, in a more +conciliatory tone; "I'll tell you everything I know of him." He lit a +cheroot.</p> + +<p>"I first met him right here in Ilo-Ilo. I had crossed over for supplies; +he was fresh from Manila and wanted to get over to Bacolod to report to +the Sup. and be assigned to his station. When I saw him he was on the +<i>muelle</i>, surrounded by an army of bluffing <i>cargadores</i>. About twelve +of them had managed to get a finger upon his lone carpet-bag while it +was being carried down the gang-plank, and each and all of them wanted +to get paid for the job. He was in a horrible pickle; couldn't speak a +word of Spanish or Visayan. And the first thing he said when I had +extricated him, thanks to my vituperative knowledge of these sweet +tongues, was: 'If them niggahs, seh, think Ah'm a-goin' to learn their +cussed lingo, they're mahtily mistaken, seh!'</p> + +<p>"After that remark, coming straight from the heart, I hardly needed to +be told that he was from the South. He was from Mississippi. He was +gaunt, yellow, malarial, and slovenly. He had 'teached' for twenty +years, he said, but in spite of this there was about him something +indescribably rural, something of the sod—not the dignity, the +sturdiness of it, but rather of the pettiness, the sordidness of it. It +showed in his dirty, flapping garments, his unlaced shoes, his stubble +beard, in his indecent carelessness in expectorating the tobacco he was +ceaselessly chewing. But these, after all, were some of his minor +traits. I was soon to get an inkling of one of his major ones—his +prodigious meanness. For when I rushed about and finally found a lorcha +that was to sail for Bacolod and asked him to chip in with me on +provisions, he demurred.</p> + +<p>"'Ah'd like to git my own, seh,' he said in that decisive drawl of his.</p> + +<p>"'All right,' I said cheerfully, and went off and stocked up for two. My +instinct served me well. When, that evening, Miller walked up the +gang-plank, he carried only his carpet-bag, and that was flat and +hungry-looking as before. The next morning he shared my provisions +calmly and resolutely, with an air, almost, of conscious duty. Well, let +that go; before another day I was face to face with his other flaming +characteristic.</p> + +<p>"Out of Ilo-Ilo we had contrary winds at first; all night the lorcha—an +old grandmother of a craft, full of dry-rot spots as big as +woodpeckers' nests—flapped heavily about on impotent tacks, and when +the sun rose we found ourselves on the same spot from which we had +watched its setting. Toward ten o'clock, however, the monsoon veered, +and, wing-and-wing, the old boat, creaking in every joint as if she had +the dengue, grunted her way over flashing combers with a speed that +seemed almost indecent. Then, just as we were getting near enough to +catch the heated glitter of the Bacolod church-dome, to see the golden +thread of beach at the foot of the waving cocoanuts, the wind fell, +slap-bang, as suddenly as if God had said hush—and we stuck there, +motionless, upon a petrified sea.</p> + +<p>"I didn't stamp about and foam at the mouth; I'd been in these climes +too long. As for Miller, he was from Mississippi. We picked out a +comparatively clean spot on the deck, near the bow; we lay down on our +backs and relaxed our beings into infinite patience. We had been thus +for perhaps an hour; I was looking up at a little white cloud that +seemed receding, receding into the blue immensity behind it. Suddenly a +noise like thunder roared in my ears. The little cloud gave a great leap +back into its place; the roar dwindled into the voice of Miller, in +plaintive, disturbed drawl. 'What the deuce are the niggahs doing?' he +was saying.</p> + +<p>"And certainly the behavior of that Visayan crew was worthy of question. +Huddled quietly at the stern, one after another they were springing over +the rail into the small boat that was dragging behind, and even as I +looked the last man disappeared with the painter in his hand. At the +same moment I became aware of a strange noise. Down in the bowels of +the lorcha a weird, gentle commotion was going on, a multitudinous +'gluck-gluck' as of many bottles being emptied. A breath of hot, musty +air was sighing out of the hatch. Then the sea about the poop began to +rise,—to rise slowly, calmly, steadily, like milk in a heated pot.</p> + +<p>"'By the powers,' I shouted, 'the old tub is going down!'</p> + +<p>"It was true. There, upon the sunlit sea, beneath the serene sky, +silently, weirdly, unprovoked, the old boat, as if weary, was sinking in +one long sigh of lassitude. And we, of course, were going with it. A few +yards away from the stern-post was the jolly-boat with the crew. I +looked at them, and in my heart I could not condemn them for their sly +departure; they were all there, <i>arraiz</i>, wife, children, and crew, so +heaped together that they seemed only a meaningless tangle of arms and +legs and heads; the water was half an inch from the gunwale, and the one +man at the oars, hampered, paralyzed on all sides, was splashing +helplessly while the craft pivoted like a top. There was no anger in my +heart, yet I was not absolutely reconciled to the situation. I searched +the deck with my eyes, then from the jolly-boat the <i>arraiz</i> obligingly +yelled, '<i>El biroto, el biroto</i>!'</p> + +<p>"And I remembered the rotten little canoe lashed amidships. It didn't +take us long to get it into the water (the water by that time was very +close at hand). I went carefully into it first so as to steady it for +Miller, and then, both of us at once, we saw that it would hold only +one. The bottom, a hollowed log, was stanch enough, but the sides, made +of pitched bamboo lattice, were sagging and torn. It would hold only +one.</p> + +<p>"'Well, who is it?' I asked. In my heart there was no craven panic, but +neither was there sacrifice. Some vague idea was in my mind, of deciding +who should get the place by some game of chance, tossing up a coin, for +instance.</p> + +<p>"But Miller said, 'Ah cain't affawd to take chances, seh; you must git +out.'</p> + +<p>"He spoke calmly, with great seriousness, but without undue emphasis—as +one enunciating an uncontrovertible natural law. I glanced up into his +face, and it was in harmony with his voice. He didn't seem particularly +scared; he was serious, that's all; his eyes were set in that peculiar, +wide-pupiled stare of the man contemplating his own fixed idea.</p> + +<p>"'No, seh; Ah cain't affawd it,' he repeated.</p> + +<p>"The absurdity of the thing suddenly tingled in me like wine. 'All +right!' I shouted, in a contagion of insanity; 'all right, take the +darned thing!'</p> + +<p>"And I got out. I got out and let him step stiffly into the boat, which +I obligingly sent spinning from the lorcha with one long, strong kick. +Then I was alone on the deck, which suddenly looked immense, stretched +on all sides, limitless as loneliness itself. A heavy torpor fell from +the skies and amid this general silence, this immobility, the cabin door +alone seemed to live, live in weird manifestation. It had been left +open, and now it was swinging and slamming to and fro jerkily, and +shuddering from top to bottom. Half in plan, half in mere irritation at +this senseless, incessant jigging, I sprang toward it and with one +nervous pull tore it, hinge and all, from the rotten woodwork. I heaved +it over the side, went in head first after it, took a few strokes and +lay, belly down, upon it. Just then the lorcha began to rise by the +head; the bowsprit went up slowly like a finger pointing solemnly to +heaven; then, without a sound, almost instantaneously, the whole fabric +disappeared. Across the now unoccupied space Miller and I rushed +smoothly toward each other, as if drawn by some gigantic magnet; our +crafts bumped gently, like two savages caressingly rubbing noses; they +swung apart a little and lay side by side, undulating slightly.</p> + +<p>"And we remained there, little black specks upon the flashing sea. Two +hundred yards away was the lorcha's boat; they had reshuffled themselves +more advantageously and were pulling slowly toward land. Not twenty feet +from me Miller sat upright in his canoe as if petrified. I was not so +badly off. The door floated me half out of water, and that was lukewarm, +so I knew that I could stand it a long time. What bothered me, though, +was that the blamed raft was not long enough; that is, the upper part of +my body being heavier, it took more door to support it, so that my feet +were projecting beyond the lower edge, and every second or so the +nibbling of some imaginary shark sent them flying up into the air in +undignified gymnastics. The consoling part of it was that Miller was +paying no notice. He still sat up, rigid, in his canoe, clutching the +sides stiffly and looking neither to right nor left. From where I lay I +could see the cords of his neck drawn taut, and his knuckles showing +white.</p> + +<p>"'Why the deuce don't you paddle to shore?' I shouted at length, taking +a sudden disgust of the situation.</p> + +<p>"He did not turn his head as he answered, 'Ah—Ah,' he stammered, the +words coming hard as hiccoughs out of his throat, 'Ah don't know haow.'</p> + +<p>"'Drop the sides of your boat and try,' I suggested.</p> + +<p>"He seemed to ponder carefully over this for a while. 'Ah think it's +safer to stay this-a-way,' he decided finally.</p> + +<p>"'But, good Lord, man,' I cried, angry at this calm stupidity, 'if +that's what you're going to do, you'd better get on this door here and +let me take the boat. I'll paddle ashore and come back for you.'</p> + +<p>"He turned his head slowly. He contemplated my raft long, carefully, +critically.</p> + +<p>"'Ah think Ah'll be safer heyah, seh,' he decided. 'It's a little bit o' +old door, and Ah reckon they's a heap of sharks around.'</p> + +<p>"After that I had little to say. Given the premises of the man, his +conclusions were unquestionable. And the premises were a selfishness so +tranquil, so ingenuous, so fresh, I might say, that I couldn't work up +the proper indignation. It was something so perfect as to challenge +admiration. On the whole, however, it afforded a poor subject for +conversation; so we remained there, taciturn, I on my door, +half-submerged in the tepid water, my heels flung up over my back, he in +his dugout, rigid, his hands clutching the sides as if he were trying to +hold up the craft out of the liquid abyss beneath.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center n smcap"><a name="not" id="not"></a><img src="images/image126.jpg" alt="header" width="40%" /><br /> +"Not twenty feet from me Miller sat upright<br /> +in his canoe as if petrified."<br /><br /> +From a Painting by Merle Johnson.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>"And thus we were still when, just as the sun was setting somberly, a +velos full of chattering natives +picked us up. They landed us at Bacolod, and Miller left me to report to +the Sup. I departed before sun-up the next morning for my station. I +didn't want to see Miller again.</p> + +<p>"But I did. One night he came floundering through my pueblo. It was in +the middle of the rainy season. He wasn't exactly caked with mud; +rather, he seemed to ooze it out of every pore. He had been assigned to +Binalbagan, ten miles further down. I stared when he told me this. +Binalbagan was the worst post on the island, a musty, pestilential hole +with a sullenly hostile population, and he—well, inefficiency was +branded all over him in six-foot letters. I tried to stop him overnight, +but he would not do it, and I saw him splash off in the darkness, gaunt, +yellow, mournful.</p> + +<p>"I saw little of him after that. I was busy establishing new +barrio-schools, which were to give me excuses for long horseback rides +of inspection. I felt his presence down there in that vague way by which +you are aware of a person behind your back without turning around. +Rumors of his doings reached me. He was having a horrible time. On the +night of his arrival he had been invited to dinner by the Presidente, a +kind old primitive soul, but when he found that he was expected to sit +at the table with the family, he had stamped off, indignant, saying that +he didn't eat with no niggers. As I've said before, the town was +hostile, and this attitude did not help matters much. He couldn't get +the school moneys out of the Tesorero—an unmitigated rascal—but that +did not make much difference, for he had no pupils anyhow. He couldn't +speak a word of Spanish; no one in the town, of course, knew any +English—he must have been horribly lonely. He began to wear <i>camisas</i>, +like the natives. That's always a bad sign. It shows that the man has +discovered that there is no one to care how he dresses—that is, that +there is no longer any public opinion. It indicates something subtly +worse—that the man has ceased looking at himself, that the <i>I</i> has +ceased criticising, judging, stiffening up the <i>me</i>,—in other words, +that there is no longer any conscience. That white suit, I tell you, is +a wonderful moral force; the white suit, put on fresh every morning, +heavily starched, buttoned up to the chin, is like an armor, +ironcladding you against the germ of decay buzzing about you, +ceaselessly vigilant for the little vulnerable spot. Miller wore +<i>camisas</i>, and then he began to go without shoes. I saw that myself. I +was riding through his pueblo on my way to Dent's, and I passed his +school. I looked into the open door as my head bobbed by at the height +of the stilt-raised floor. He was in his <i>camisa</i> and barefooted; his +long neck stretched out of the collarless garment with a mournful, +stork-like expression. Squatting on the floor were three trouserless, +dirt-incrusted boys; he was pointing at a chart standing before their +eyes, and all together they were shouting some word that exploded away +down in their throats in tremendous effort and never seemed to reach +their lips. I called out and waved my hand as I went by, and when I +looked back, a hundred yards farther, I saw that he had come out upon +the bamboo platform outside of the door, gaping after me with his chin +thrown forward in that mournful, stork-like way—I should have gone +back.</p> + +<p>"With him, I must say, the <i>camisa</i> did not mean all that I have +suggested, not the sort of degradation of which it is the symbol in +other men. The most extravagant imagination could not have linked him +with anything that smacked of romance, romance however sordid. His +vices, I had sized it, would come rather from an excess of calculation +than from a lack of it. No, that <i>camisa</i> was just a sign of his +meanness, his prodigious meanness. And of that I was soon given an +extraordinary example.</p> + +<p>"I had with me a young fellow named Ledesma, whom I was training to be +assistant <i>maestro</i>. He was very bright, thirsty to learn, and extremely +curious of us white men. I don't believe that the actions of one of +them, for fifty miles around, ever escaped him, and every day he came to +me with some talk, some rumor, some gossip about my fellow-exiles which +he would relate to me with those strange interrogative inflections that +he had brought from his native dialect into English—as if perpetually +he were seeking explanation, confirmation. One morning he said to me: +'The <i>maestro</i> Miller, he does not eat.'</p> + +<p>"'No?' I answered, absent-mindedly.</p> + +<p>"'No, he never eats,' he reiterated authoritatively, although that +peculiar Visayan inflection of which I have spoken gave him the air of +asking a question.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, I suppose he does,' I said, carelessly.</p> + +<p>"'He does not eat,' he repeated. 'Every one in Binalbagan say so. Since +he there, he has not bought anything at the store.'</p> + +<p>"'His <i>muchachos</i> bring him chicken,' I suggested.</p> + +<p>"No, señor; he very funny; he has no <i>muchachos</i>; not one <i>muchacho</i> has +he.'</p> + +<p>"'Well, he probably has canned provisions sent him.'</p> + +<p>"'No, señor; the <i>cargadores</i> they say that never never have they +carried anything for him. He does not eat.'</p> + +<p>"'Very well,' I concluded, somewhat amused; 'he does not eat.'</p> + +<p>"The boy was silent for a minute, then, 'Señor Maestro,' he asked with +suspicious ingenuousness 'can Americans live without eating?'</p> + +<p>"So that I was not able to drop the subject as easily as I wished. And +coming to a forced consideration of it, I found that my anxiety to do so +was not very beautiful after all. A picture came to me—that of Miller +on his bamboo platform before his door, gazing mournfully after me, his +chin thrown forward. It did not leave me the day long, and at sundown I +saddled up and trotted off toward Binalbagan.</p> + +<p>"I didn't reach the pueblo that night, however. Only a mile from it I +plunged out of the moonlight into the pitch darkness of a hollow lane +cutting through Don Jaime's hacienda. Banana palms were growing thick to +right and left; the way was narrow and deep—it was a fine place for +cutthroats, but that avocation had lost much of its romantic charm from +the fact that, not three weeks before, an actual cutthroating had taken +place, a Chinese merchant having been boloed by <i>tusilanes</i>. Well, I was +trotting through, my right hand somewhat close to my holster, when from +the right, close, there came a soft, reiterated chopping noise. I pulled +up my pony. The sound kept up—a discreet, persistent chopping; then I +saw, up above, the moonlit top of a palm shuddering, though all about it +the others remained motionless, petrified as if of solid silver. It was +a very simple thing after all: some one in there was cutting down a palm +to get bananas, an occupation very common in the Philippines, and very +pacific, in spite of the ominous air given to it by the gigantic bolo +used. However, something prompted me to draw the midnight harvester out.</p> + +<p>"'Heh, <i>ladron</i>, what are you doing there?' I shouted in dialect.</p> + +<p>"'There was a most sudden silence. The chopping ceased, the palm stopped +vibrating. A vague form bounded down the lane, right up against my +horse's nose, rolled over, straightened up again, and vanished into the +darkness ahead. Unconsciously I spurred on after it. For a hundred yards +I galloped with nothing in sight. Then I caught a rapid view of the +thing as it burst through a shaft of moonlight piercing the glade, and +it showed as a man, a grotesque figure of a man in loose white +pantaloons. He was frightened, horribly frightened, all hunched up with +the frenzy to escape. An indistinct bundle was on his right shoulder. +Like a curtain the dark snapped shut behind him again, but I urged on +with a wild hallo, my blood all a-tingle with the exultation of the +chase. I gained—he must have been a lamentable runner, for my poor +little pony was staggering under my tumultuous weight. I could hear him +pant and sob a few yards in advance; then he came into sight, a dim, +loping whiteness ahead. Suddenly the bundle left his shoulder; something +rolled along the ground under my horse's hoofs—and I was standing on +my head in a soft, oozy place. I was mad, furiously mad. I picked myself +up, went back a few yards, and taking my pony by the nose picked <i>him</i> +up. A touch of his throbbing flanks, however, warned me as I was putting +my foot into the stirrup. I left him there and thundered on foot down +the lane. I have said I was mad. 'Yip-yip-yah-ah, yip-yip-yah-ah!' I +yelled as I dashed on—a yell I had heard among California cattlemen. It +must have paralyzed that flying personage, for I gained upon him +shockingly. I could hear him pant, a queer, patient panting, a sigh +rather, a gentle, lamenting sighing, and the white <i>camisa</i> flapped +ghostily in the darkness. Suddenly he burst out of obscurity, past the +plantation, into the glaring moonlight. And I—I stopped short, went +down on my hands and knees, and crouched back into the shadow. For the +man running was Miller; Miller, wild, sobbing, disheveled, his shoulders +drawn up to his ears in terrible weariness, his whole body taut with +fear, and scudding, scudding away, low along the ground, his chin +forward, mournful as a stork. Soon he was across the luminous space, and +then he disappeared into the darkness on the other side, flopped head +first into it as if hiding his face in a pillow.</p> + +<p>"I returned slowly to my horse. He was standing where I had left him, +his four legs far apart in a wide base. Between them was the thing cast +off by Miller which had thrown us. I examined it by the light of a box +of matches. It was a bunch of bananas, one of those gigantic clusters +which can be cut from the palms. I got on my horse and rode back home.</p> + +<p>"I didn't go to see him any more. A man who will steal bananas in a +country where they can be bought a dozen for one cent is too mean to be +worth visiting. I had another reason, too. It had dawned on me that +Miller probably did not care to see any of us, that he had come down to +a mode of life which would not leave him appreciative of confrontations +with past standards. It was almost charity to leave him to himself.</p> + +<p>"So I left him to himself, and he lived on in his pestilential little +hole, alone—lived a life more squalid every day. It wasn't at all a +healthy life, you can understand, no healthier physically than morally. +After a while I heard that he was looking bad, yellow as a lemon, and +the dengue cracking at his bones. I began to think of going to him after +all, of jerking him out of his rut by force, if necessary, making him +respect the traditions of his race. But just then came that Nichols +affair, and flaring, his other bad side—his abject +cowardice—reappeared to me. You remember the Nichols thing—boloed in +the dark between my town and Himamaylan. His <i>muchacho</i> had jumped into +the ditch. Afterward he got out and ran back the whole way, fifteen +miles, to my place. I started down there. My idea was to pick up Miller +as I passed, then Dent a little further down, find the body, and perhaps +indications for White of the constabulary, to whom I had sent a +messenger and who could not reach the place till morning. Well, Miller +refused to go. He had caught hold of some rumor of the happening; he was +barricaded in his hut and was sitting on his bed, a big Colt's revolver +across his knees. He would not go, he said it plainly. 'No, seh; Ah +cain't take chances; Ah cain't affawd it.' He said this without much +fire, almost tranquilly, exactly as he had, you remember, at the time of +our shipwreck. It was not so amusing now, however. Here, on land, amid +this swarming, mysterious hostility, at this crisis, it seemed a +shocking betrayal of the solidarity that bound all us white men. A red +rage took possession of me. I stood there above him and poured out +vituperation for five good minutes. I found the most extraordinary +epithets; I lowered my voice and pierced him with venomous thrusts. He +took it all. He remained seated on his bed, his revolver across his +knees, looking straight at some spot on the floor; whenever I'd become +particularly effective he'd merely look harder at the spot, as if for +him it contained something of higher significance—a command, a rule, a +precept—I don't know what, and then he'd say, 'No, Ah cain't; Ah cain't +affawd it.'</p> + +<p>"I burst out of there, a-roar like a bombshell. I rode down to Dent; we +rode down to the place and did—what there was to be done. Miller I +never wanted to see again.</p> + +<p>"But I did. Some three weeks later a carrier came to me with a note—a +penciled scrawl upon a torn piece of paper. It read:</p> + +<p>"'I think I am dying. Can you come see me? '<span class="smcap">Miller</span>.'</p> + +<p>"I went down right away. He was dead. He had died there, alone, in his +filthy little hut, in that God-forsaken pueblo, ten miles from the +nearest white man, ten thousand miles from his home.</p> + +<p>"I'll always remember our coming in. It was night. It had been raining +for thirty-six hours, and as we stepped into the unlighted hut, my +<i>muchacho</i> and I, right away the floor grew sticky and slimy with the +mud on our feet, and as we groped about blindly, we seemed ankle-deep in +something greasy and abominable like gore. After a while the boy got a +torch outside, and as he flared it I caught sight of Miller on his cot, +backed up into one corner. He was sitting upright, staring straight +ahead and a little down, as if in careful consideration. As I stepped +toward him the pliable bamboo floor undulated; the movement was carried +to him and he began to nod, very gently and gravely. He seemed to be +saying: 'No, Ah cain't affawd it.' It was atrocious. Finally I was by +his side and he was again motionless, staring thoughtfully. Then I saw +he was considering. In his hands, which lay twined on his knees, were a +lot of little metallic oblongs. I disengaged them. The <i>muchacho</i> drew +nearer, and with the torch over my shoulder I examined them. They were +photographs, cheap tintypes. The first was of a woman, a poor being, +sagging with overwork, a lamentable baby in her arms. The other pictures +were of children—six of them, boys and girls, of all ages from twelve +to three, and under each, in painful chirography, a name was +written—Lee Miller, Amy Miller, Geraldine Miller, and so on.</p> + +<p>"You don't understand, do you? For a moment I didn't. I stared stupidly +at those tintypes, shuffled and reshuffled them; the torch roared in my +ear. Then, suddenly, understanding came to me, sharp as a pang. He had a +wife and seven children.</p> + +<p>"A simple fact, wasn't it, a commonplace one, almost vulgar, you might +say. And yet what a change of view produced by it, what a dislocation of +judgment! I was like a man riding through a strange country, in a storm, +at night. It is dark, he cannot see, he has never seen the country, yet +as he rides on he begins to picture to himself the surroundings, his +imagination builds for him a landscape—a mountain there, a river here, +wind-streaming trees over there—and right away it exists, it <i>is</i>, it +has solidity, mass, life. Then suddenly comes a flash of lightning, a +second of light, and he is astounded, absolutely astounded to see the +real landscape different from that indestructible thing that his mind +had built. Thus it was with me. I had judged, oh, I had judged him +thoroughly, sized him up to a certainty, and bang, came the flare of +this new fact, this extremely commonplace fact, and I was all off. I +must begin to judge again, only it would never do that man any good.</p> + +<p>"A hundred memories came back to me, glared at me in the illumination of +that new fact. I remember the <i>camisa</i>, the bare feet. I saw him running +down the lane with his bunch of stolen bananas. I recalled that absurd +scene on the waters; I heard him say: 'No, seh; Ah cain't affawd to take +chances; Ah cain't affawd it.'</p> + +<p>"Of course he couldn't afford it. Think—a wife and seven children!</p> + +<p>"That night I went through his papers, putting things in order, and from +every leaf, every scrap, came corroboration of the new fact. He was one +of those pitiful pedagogues of the rural South, shiftless, +half-educated, inefficient. He had never been able to earn much, and +his family had always gently starved. Then had come the chance—the +golden chance—the Philippines and a thousand a year. He had taken the +bait, had come ten thousand miles to the spot of his maximum value. +Only, things had not gone quite right. Thanks to the beautiful red-tape +of the department, three months had gone before he had received his +first month's pay. Then it had come in Mex., and when he had succeeded +in changing it into gold it had dwindled to sixty dollars. Of course, he +had sent it all back, for even then it would take it six more weeks to +reach its destination, and sixty dollars is hardly too much to tide over +five months for a family of eight. These five months had to be caught up +in some way, so every month his salary, depreciated ten per cent by the +change, had gone across the waters. He wore <i>camisas</i> and no shoes, he +stole bananas. And his value, shoeless, <i>camisa</i>-clothed, was sixty +dollars a month. He was just so much capital. He had to be careful of +that capital.</p> + +<p>"'Ah cain't affawd to take chances; Ah cain't affawd it.' Of course he +couldn't.</p> + +<p>"And so he had fought on blindly, stubbornly, and, at last, with that +pitiful faculty we have, all of us, of defeating our own plans, he had +killed himself, he had killed the capital, the golden goose.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I found confirmation, but, after all, I did not need it. I had +learned it all; understanding had come to me, swift, sharp, vital as a +pang, when in the roaring light of the torch I had looked upon the pale +little tintypes, the tintypes of Lee and Amy and Jackson and +Geraldine."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="THE_LEAGUE_OF_THE_OLD_MEN" id="THE_LEAGUE_OF_THE_OLD_MEN"></a><a href="#toc">THE LEAGUE OF THE<br />OLD MEN</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">JACK LONDON</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright</i>, 1902, by the Macmillan Company Reprinted from <span class="smcap">Children of +the Frost</span> by permission</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/a.jpg" alt="A" /></span>T THE Barracks a man was being tried for his life. He was an old man, a +native from the Whitefish River, which empties into the Yukon below Lake +Le Barge. All Dawson was wrought up over the affair, and likewise the +Yukon-dwellers for a thousand miles up and down. It has been the custom +of the land-robbing and sea-robbing Anglo-Saxon to give the law to +conquered peoples, and ofttimes this law is harsh. But in the case of +Imber the law for once seemed inadequate and weak. In the mathematical +nature of things, equity did not reside in the punishment to be accorded +him. The punishment was a foregone conclusion, there could be no doubt +of that; and though it was capital, Imber had but one life, while the +tale against him was one of scores.</p> + +<p>In fact, the blood of so many was upon his hands that the killings +attributed to him did not permit of precise enumeration. Smoking a pipe +by the trail-side or lounging around the stove, men made rough estimates +of the numbers that had perished at his hand. They had been whites, all +of them, these poor murdered people, and they had been slain singly, in +pairs, and in parties. And so purposeless and wanton had been these +killings, that they had long been a mystery to the mounted police, even +in the time of the captains, and later, when the creeks realized, and a +governor came from the Dominion to make the land pay for its prosperity.</p> + +<p>But more mysterious still was the coming of Imber to Dawson to give +himself up. It was in the late spring, when the Yukon was growling and +writhing under its ice, that the old Indian climbed painfully up the +bank from the river trail and stood blinking on the main street. Men who +had witnessed his advent, noted that he was weak and tottery, and that +he staggered over to a heap of cabin-logs and sat down. He sat there a +full day, staring straight before him at the unceasing tide of white men +that flooded past. Many a head jerked curiously to the side to meet his +stare, and more than one remark was dropped anent the old Siwash with so +strange a look upon his face. No end of men remembered afterward that +they had been struck by his extraordinary figure, and forever afterward +prided themselves upon their swift discernment of the unusual.</p> + +<p>But it remained for Dickensen, Little Dickensen, to be the hero of the +occasion. Little Dickensen had come into the land with great dreams and +a pocketful of cash; but with the cash the dreams vanished, and to earn +his passage back to the States he had accepted a clerical position with +the brokerage firm of Holbrook and Mason. Across the street from the +office of Holbrook and Mason was the heap of cabin-logs upon which Imber +sat. Dickensen looked out of the window at him before he went to lunch; +and when he came back from lunch he looked out of the window, and the +old Siwash was still there.</p> + +<p>Dickensen continued to look out of the window, and he, too, forever +afterward prided himself upon his swiftness of discernment. He was a +romantic little chap, and he likened the immobile old heathen the genius +of the Siwash race, gazing calm-eyed upon the hosts of the invading +Saxon. The hours swept along, but Imber did not vary his posture, did +not by a hair's-breadth move a muscle; and Dickensen remembered the man +who once sat upright on a sled in the main street where men passed to +and fro. They thought the man was resting, but later, when they touched +him, they found him stiff and cold, frozen to death in the midst of the +busy street. To undouble him, that he might fit into a coffin, they had +been forced to lug him to a fire and thaw him out a bit. Dickensen +shivered at the recollection.</p> + +<p>Later on, Dickensen went out on the sidewalk to smoke a cigar and cool +off; and a little later Emily Travis happened along. Emily Travis was +dainty and delicate and rare, and whether in London or Klondike, she +gowned herself as befitted the daughter of a millionaire mining +engineer. Little Dickensen deposited his cigar on an outside window +ledge where he could find it again, and lifted his hat.</p> + +<p>They chatted for ten minutes or so, when Emily Travis, glancing past +Dickensen's shoulder, gave a startled little scream. Dickensen turned +about to see, and was startled, too. Imber had crossed the street and +was standing there, a gaunt and hungry-looking shadow, his gaze riveted +upon the girl.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" Little Dickensen demanded, tremulously plucky.</p> + +<p>Imber grunted and stalked up to Emily Travis. He looked her over, keenly +and carefully, every square inch of her. Especially did he appear +interested in her silky brown hair, and in the color of her cheek, +faintly sprayed and soft, like the downy bloom of a butterfly wing. He +walked around her, surveying her with the calculating eye of a man who +studies the lines upon which a horse or a boat is builded. In the course +of his circuit the pink shell of her ear came between his eye and the +westering sun, and he stopped to contemplate its rosy transparency. Then +he returned to her face and looked long and intently into her blue eyes. +He grunted and laid a hand on her arm midway between the shoulder and +elbow. With his other hand he lifted her forearm and doubled it back. +Disgust and wonder showed in his face, and he dropped her arm with a +contemptuous grunt. Then he muttered a few guttural syllables, turned +his back upon her, and addressed himself to Dickensen.</p> + +<p>Dickensen could not understand his speech, and Emily Travis laughed. +Imber turned from one to the other, frowning, but both shook their +heads. He was about to go away, when she called out:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jimmy! Come here!"</p> + +<p>Jimmy came from the other side of the street. He was a big, hulking +Indian clad in approved white-man style, with an Eldorado king's +sombrero on his head. He talked with Imber, haltingly, with throaty +spasms. Jimmy was a Sitkan, possessed of no more than a passing +knowledge of the interior dialects.</p> + +<p>"Him Whitefish man," he said to Emily Travis. "Me savve um talk no very +much. Him want to look see chief white man."</p> + +<p>"The Governor," suggested Dickensen.</p> + +<p>Jimmy talked some more with the Whitefish man, and his face went grave +and puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I t'ink um want Cap'n Alexander," he explained. "Him say um kill white +man, white woman, white boy, plenty kill um white people. Him want to +die."</p> + +<p>"'Insane, I guess," said Dickensen.</p> + +<p>"What you call dat?" queried Jimmy.</p> + +<p>Dickensen thrust a finger figuratively inside his head and imparted a +rotary motion thereto.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe so, mebbe so," said Jimmy, returning to Imber, who still demanded +the chief man of the white men.</p> + +<p>A mounted policeman (unmounted for Klondike service) joined the group +and heard Imber's wish repeated. He was a stalwart young fellow, +broad-shouldered, deep-chested, legs cleanly built and stretched wide +apart, and tall though Imber was, he towered above him by half a head. +His eyes were cool, and gray, and steady, and he carried himself with +the peculiar confidence of power that is bred of blood and tradition. +His splendid masculinity was emphasized by his excessive boyishness,—he +was a mere lad,—and his smooth cheek promised a blush as willingly as +the cheek of a maid.</p> + +<p>Imber was drawn to him at once. The fire leaped into his eyes at sight +of a sabre slash that scarred his cheek. He ran a withered hand down the +young fellow's leg and caressed the swelling thew. He smote the broad +chest with his knuckles, and pressed and prodded the thick muscle-pads +that covered the shoulders like a cuirass. The group had been added to +by curious passers-by—husky miners, mountaineers, and frontiersmen, +sons of the long-legged and broad-shouldered generations. Imber glanced +from one to another, then he spoke aloud in the Whitefish tongue.</p> + +<p>"What did he say?" asked Dickensen.</p> + +<p>"Him say um all the same one man, dat p'liceman," Jimmy interpreted.</p> + +<p>Little Dickensen was little, and what of Miss Travis, he felt sorry for +having asked the question.</p> + +<p>The policeman was sorry for him and stepped into the breach. "I fancy +there may be something in his story. I'll take him up to the captain for +examination. Tell him to come along with me, Jimmy."</p> + +<p>Jimmy indulged in more throaty spasms, and Imber grunted and looked +satisfied.</p> + +<p>"But ask him what he said, Jimmy, and what he meant when he took hold of +my arm."</p> + +<p>So spoke Emily Travis, and Jimmy put the question and received the +answer.</p> + +<p>"Him say you no afraid," said Jimmy.</p> + +<p>Emily Travis looked pleased.</p> + +<p>"Him say you no <i>skookum</i>, no strong, all the same very soft like little +baby. Him break you, in um two hands, to little pieces. Him t'ink much +funny, very strange, how you can be mother of men so big, so strong, +like dat p'liceman."</p> + +<p>Emily Travers kept her eyes up and unfaltering, but her cheeks were +sprayed with scarlet. Little Dickensen blushed and was quite +embarrassed. The policeman's face blazed with his boy's blood.</p> + +<p>"Come along, you," he said gruffly, setting his shoulder to the crowd +and forcing a way.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that Imber found his way to the Barracks, where he made full +and voluntary confession, and from the precincts of which he never +emerged.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>Imber looked very tired. The fatigue of hopelessness and age was in his +face. His shoulders drooped depressingly, and his eyes were lack-luster. +His mop of hair should have been white, but sun—and weather-beat had +burned and bitten it so that it hung limp and lifeless and colorless. He +took no interest in what went on around him. The court-room was jammed +with the men of the creeks and trails, and there was an ominous note in +the rumble and grumble of their low-pitched voices, which came to his +ears like the growl of the sea from deep caverns.</p> + +<p>He sat close by a window, and his apathetic eyes rested now and again on +the dreary scene without. The sky was overcast, and a gray drizzle was +falling. It was flood-time on the Yukon. The ice was gone, and the river +was up in the town. Back and forth on the main street, in canoes and +poling-boats, passed the people that never rested. Often he saw these +boats turn aside from the street and enter the flooded square that +marked the Barracks' parade-ground. Sometimes they disappeared beneath +him, and he heard them jar against the house-logs and their occupants +scramble in through the window. After that came the slush of water +against men's legs as they waded across the lower room and mounted the +stairs. Then they appeared in the doorway, with doffed hats and +dripping sea-boots, and added themselves to the waiting crowd.</p> + +<p>And while they centered their looks on him, and in grim anticipation +enjoyed the penalty he was to pay, Imber looked at them, and mused on +their ways, and on their Law that never slept, but went on unceasing, in +good times and bad, in flood and famine, through trouble and terror and +death, and which would go on unceasing, it seemed to him, to the end of +time.</p> + +<p>A man rapped sharply on a table, and the conversation droned away into +silence. Imber looked at the man. He seemed one in authority, yet Imber +divined the square-browed man who sat by a desk farther back to be the +one chief over them all and over the man who had rapped. Another man by +the same table uprose and began to read aloud from many fine sheets of +paper. At the top of each sheet he cleared his throat, at the bottom +moistened his fingers. Imber did not understand his speech, but the +others did, and he knew that it made them angry. Sometimes it made them +very angry, and once a man cursed him, in single syllables, stinging and +tense, till a man at the table rapped him to silence.</p> + +<p>For an interminable period the man read. His monotonous, sing-song +utterance lured Imber to dreaming, and he was dreaming deeply when the +man ceased. A voice spoke to him in his own Whitefish tongue, and he +roused up, without surprise, to look upon the face of his sister's son, +a young man who had wandered away years agone to make his dwelling with +the whites.</p> + +<p>"Thou dost not remember me," he said by way of greeting.</p> + +<p>"Nay," Imber answered. "Thou art Howkan who went away. Thy mother be +dead."</p> + +<p>"She was an old woman," said Howkan.</p> + +<p>But Imber did not hear, and Howkan, with hand upon his shoulder, roused +him again.</p> + +<p>"I shall speak to thee what the man has spoken, which is the tale of the +troubles thou hast done and which thou hast told, O fool, to the Captain +Alexander. And thou shalt understand and say if it be true talk or talk +not true. It is so commanded."</p> + +<p>Howkan had fallen among the mission folk and been taught by them to read +and write. In his hands he held the many fine sheets from which the man +had read aloud and which had been taken down by a clerk when Imber first +made confession, through the mouth of Jimmy, to Captain Alexander. +Howkan began to read. Imber listened for a space, when a wonderment rose +up in his face and he broke in abruptly.</p> + +<p>"That be my talk, Howkan. Yet from thy lips it comes when thy ears have +not heard."</p> + +<p>Howkan smirked with self-appreciation. His hair was parted in the +middle. "Nay, from the paper it comes, O Imber. Never have my ears +heard. From the paper it comes, through my eyes, into my head, and out +of my mouth to thee. Thus it comes."</p> + +<p>"Thus it comes? It be there in the paper?" Imber's voice sank in +whisperful awe as he crackled the sheets 'twixt thumb and finger and +stared at the charactery scrawled thereon. "It be a great medicine, +Howkan, and thou art a worker of wonders."</p> + +<p>"It be nothing, it be nothing," the young man responded carelessly and +pridefully. He read at hazard from the document: "<i>In that year, before +the break of the ice, came an old man, and a boy who was lame of one +foot. These also did I kill, and the old man made much noise</i>——"</p> + +<p>"It be true," Imber interrupted breathlessly, "He made much noise and +would not die for a long time. But how dost thou know, Howkan? The chief +man of the white men told thee, mayhap? No one beheld me, and him alone +have I told."</p> + +<p>Howkan shook his head with impatience. "Have I not told thee it be there +in the paper, O fool?"</p> + +<p>Imber stared hard at the ink-scrawled surface. "As the hunter looks upon +the snow and says, Here but yesterday there passed a rabbit; and here by +the willow scrub it stood and listened, and heard, and was afraid; and +here it turned upon its trail; and here it went with great swiftness, +leaping wide; and here, with greater swiftness and wider leapings, came +a lynx; and here, where the claws cut deep into the snow, the lynx made +a very great leap; and here it struck, with the rabbit under and rolling +belly up; and here leads off the trail of the lynx alone, and there is +no more rabbit,—as the hunter looks upon the markings of the snow and +says thus and so and here, dost thou, too, look upon the paper and say +thus and so and here be the things old Imber hath done?"</p> + +<p>"Even so," said Howkan. "And now do thou listen, and keep thy woman's +tongue between thy teeth till thou art called upon for speech."</p> + +<p>Thereafter, and for a long time, Howkan read to him the confession, and +Imber remained musing and silent. At the end, he said:</p> + +<p>"It be my talk, and true talk, but I am grown old, Howkan, and forgotten +things come back to me which were well for the head man there to know. +First, there was the man who came over the Ice Mountains, with cunning +traps made of iron, who sought the beaver of the Whitefish. Him I slew. +And there were three men seeking gold on the Whitefish long ago. Them +also I slew, and left them to the wolverines. And at the Five Fingers +there was a man with a raft and much meat."</p> + +<p>At the moments when Imber paused to remember, Howkan translated and a +clerk reduced to writing. The court-room listened stolidly to each +unadorned little tragedy, till Imber told of a red-haired man whose eyes +were crossed and whom he had killed with a remarkably long shot.</p> + +<p>"Hell," said a man in the forefront of the onlookers. He said it +soulfully and sorrowfully. He was red-haired. "Hell," he repeated. "That +was my brother Bill." And at regular intervals throughout the session, +his solemn "Hell" was heard in the court-room; nor did his comrades +check him, nor did the man at the table rap him to order.</p> + +<p>Imber's head drooped once more, and his eyes went dull, as though a film +rose up and covered them from the world. And he dreamed as only age can +dream upon the colossal futility of youth.</p> + +<p>Later, Howkan roused him again, saying: "Stand up, O Imber. It be +commanded that thou tellest why you did these troubles, and slew these +people, and at the end journeyed here seeking the Law."</p> + +<p>Imber rose feebly to his feet and swayed back and forth. He began to +speak in a low and faintly rumbling voice, but Howkan interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"This old man, he is damn crazy," he said in English to the +square-browed man. "His talk is foolish and like that of a child."</p> + +<p>"We will hear his talk which is like that of a child," said the +square-browed man. "And we will hear it, word for word, as he speaks it. +Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>Howkan understood, and Imber's eyes flashed for he had witnessed the +play between his sister's son and the man in authority. And then began +the story, the epic of a bronze patriot which might well itself be +wrought into bronze for the generations unborn. The crowd fell strangely +silent, and the square-browed judge leaned head on hand and pondered his +soul and the soul of his race. Only was heard the deep tones of Imber, +rhythmically alternating with the shrill voice of the interpreter, and +now and again, like the bell of the Lord, the wondering and meditative +"Hell" of the red-haired man.</p> + +<p>"I am Imber of the Whitefish people." So ran the interpretation of +Howkan, whose inherent barbarism gripped hold of him, and who lost his +mission culture and veneered civilization as he caught the savage ring +and rhythm of old Imber's tale. "My father was Otsbaok, a strong man. +The land was warm with sunshine and gladness when I was a boy. The +people did not hunger after strange things, nor hearken to new voices, +and the ways of their fathers were their ways. The women found favor in +the eyes of the young men, and the young men looked upon them with +content. Babes hung at the breasts of the women, and they were +heavy-hipped with increase of the tribe. Men were men in those days. In +peace and plenty, and in war and famine, they were men.</p> + +<p>"At that time there was more fish in the water than now, and more meat +in the forest. Our dogs were wolves, warm with thick hides and hard to +the frost and storm. And as with our dogs, so with us, for we were +likewise hard to the frost and storm. And when the Pellys came into our +land we slew them and were slain. For we were men, we Whitefish, and our +fathers and our fathers' fathers had fought against the Pellys and +determined the bounds of the land.</p> + +<p>"As I say, with our dogs, so with us. And one day came the first white +man. He dragged himself, so, on hand and knee, in the snow. And his skin +was stretched tight, and his bones were sharp beneath. Never was such a +man, we thought, and we wondered of what strange tribe he was, and of +its land. And he was weak, most weak, like a little child, so that we +gave him a place by the fire, and warm furs to lie upon, and we gave him +food as little children are given food.</p> + +<p>"And with him was a dog, large as three of our dogs, and very weak. The +hair of this dog was short, and not warm, and the tail was frozen so +that the end fell off. And this strange dog we fed, and bedded by the +fire, and fought from it our dogs, which else would have killed him. And +what of the moose meat and the sun-dried salmon, the man and dog took +strength to themselves; and what of the strength, they became big and +unafraid. And the man spoke loud words and laughed at the old men and +young men, and looked boldly upon the maidens. And the dog fought with +our dogs, and for all of his short hair and softness slew three of them +in one day.</p> + +<p>"When we asked the man concerning his people he said, 'I have many +brothers,' and laughed in a way that was not good. And when he was in +his full strength he went away, and with him went Noda, daughter to the +chief. First, after that, was one of our bitches brought to pup. And +never was there such a breed of dogs,—big-headed, thick-jawed, and +short-haired, and helpless. Well do I remember my father, Otsbaok, a +strong man. His face was black with anger at such helplessness, and he +took a stone, so, and so, and there was no more helplessness. And two +summers after that came Noda back to us with a man-child in the hollow +of her arm.</p> + +<p>"And that was the beginning. Came a second white man, with short-haired +dogs, which he left behind him when he went. And with him went six of +our strongest dogs, for which, in trade, he had given Koo-So-Tee, my +mother's brother, a wonderful pistol that fired with great swiftness six +times. And Koo-So-Tee was very big, what of the pistol, and laughed at +our bows and arrows. 'Woman's things,' he called them, and went forth +against the bald-face grizzly, with the pistol in his hand. Now it be +known that it is not good to hunt the bald-face with a pistol, but how +were we to know? and how was Koo-So-Tee to know? So he went against the +bald-face, very brave, and fired the pistol with great swiftness six +times; and the bald-face but grunted and broke in his breast like it +were an egg and like honey from a bee's nest dripped the brains of +Koo-So-Tee upon the ground. He was a good hunter, and there was no one +to bring meat to his squaw and children. And we were bitter, and we said +'That which for the white men is well, is for us not well.' And this be +true. There be many white men and fat, but their ways have made us few +and lean.</p> + +<p>"Came the third white man, with great wealth of all manner of wonderful +foods and things. And twenty of our strongest dogs he took from us in +trade. Also, what of presents and great promises, ten of our young +hunters did he take with him on a journey which fared no man knew where. +It is said they died in the snow of the Ice Mountains where man has +never been, or in the Hills of Silence which are beyond the edge of the +earth. Be that as it may, dogs and young hunters were seen never again +by the Whitefish people.</p> + +<p>"And more white men came with the years, and ever, with pay and +presents, they led the young men away with them. And sometimes the young +men came back with strange tales of dangers and toils in the lands +beyond the Pellys, and sometimes they did not come back. And we said: +'If they be unafraid of life, these white men, it is because they have +many lives; but we be few by the Whitefish, and the young men shall go +away no more.' But the young men did go away; and the young women went +also; and we were very wroth.</p> + +<p>"It be true, we ate flour, and salt pork, and drank tea which was a +great delight; only, when we could not get tea, it was very bad and we +became short of speech and quick of anger. So we grew to hunger for the +things the white men brought in trade. Trade! trade! all the time was it +trade! One winter we sold our meat for clocks that would not go, and +watches with broken guts, and files worn smooth, and pistols without +cartridges and worthless. And then came famine, and we were without +meat, and two-score died ere the break of spring.</p> + +<p>"'Now are we grown weak,' we said; 'and the Pellys will fall upon us, +and our bounds be overthrown.' But as it fared with us, so had it fared +with the Pellys, and they were too weak to come against us.</p> + +<p>"My father, Otsbaok, a strong man, was now old and very wise. And he +spoke to the chief, saying: 'Behold, our dogs be worthless. No longer +are they thick-furred and strong, and they die in the frost and harness. +Let us go into the village and kill them, saving only the wolf ones, and +these let us tie out in the night that they may mate with the wild +wolves of the forest. Thus shall we have dogs warm and strong again.'</p> + +<p>"And his word was harkened to, and we Whitefish became known for our +dogs, which were the best in the land. But known we were not for +ourselves. The best of our young men and women had gone away with the +white men to wander on trail and river to far places. And the young +women came back old and broken, as Noda had come, or they came not at +all. And the young men came back to sit by our fires for a time, full +of ill speech and rough ways, drinking evil drinks and gambling through +long nights and days, with a great unrest always in their hearts, till +the call of the white men came to them and they went away again to the +unknown places. And they were without honor and respect, jeering the +old-time customs and laughing in the faces of chief and shamans.</p> + +<p>"As I say, we were become a weak breed, we Whitefish. We sold our warm +skins and furs for tobacco and whiskey and thin cotton things that left +us shivering in the cold. And the coughing sickness came upon us, and +men and women coughed and sweated through the long nights, and the +hunters on trail spat blood upon the snow. And now one, and now another, +bled swiftly from the mouth and died. And the women bore few children, +and those they bore were weak and given to sickness. And other +sicknesses came to us from the white men, the like of which we had never +known and could not understand. Smallpox, likewise measles, have I heard +these sicknesses named, and we died of them as die the salmon in the +still eddies when in the fall their eggs are spawned and there is no +longer need for them to live.</p> + +<p>"And yet, and here be the strangeness of it, the white men come as the +breath of death; all their ways lead to death, their nostrils are filled +with it; and yet they do not die. Theirs the whiskey, and tobacco, and +short-haired dogs; theirs the many sicknesses, the smallpox and measles, +the coughing and mouth-bleeding; theirs the white skin, and softness to +the frost and storm; and theirs the pistols that shoot six times very +swift and are worthless. And yet they grow fat on their many ills, and +prosper, and lay a heavy hand over all the world and tread mightily upon +its peoples. And their women, too, are soft as little babes, most +breakable and never broken, the mothers of men. And out of all this +softness, and sickness, and weakness, come strength, and power, and +authority. They be gods, or devils, as the case may be. I do not know. +What do I know, I, old Imber of the Whitefish? Only do I know that they +are past understanding, these white men, far-wanderers and fighters over +the earth that they be.</p> + +<p>"As I say, the meat in the forest became less and less. It be true, the +white man's gun is most excellent and kills a long way off; but of what +worth the gun, when there is no meat to kill? When I was a boy on the +Whitefish there was moose on every hill, and each year came the caribou +uncountable. But now the hunter may take the trail ten days and not one +moose gladden his eyes, while the caribou uncountable come no more at +all. Small worth the gun, I say, killing a long way off, when there be +nothing to kill.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center n smcap"><a name="all" id="all"></a><img src="images/image158.jpg" alt="header" width="40%" /><br /> +"All their ways lead to death"<br /><br /> +From a Painting by Maynard Dixon.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>"And I, Imber, pondered upon these things, watching the while the +Whitefish, and the Pellys, and all the tribes of the land, perishing as +perished the meat of the forest. Long I pondered. I talked with the +shamans and the old men who were wise. I went apart that the sounds of +the village might not disturb me, and I ate no meat, so that my belly +should not press upon me and make me slow of eye and ear. I sat long and +sleepless in the forest, wide-eyed for the sign, my ears patient and +keen for the word that +was to come. And I wandered alone in the blackness of night to the river +bank, where was wind-moaning and sobbing of water, and where I sought +wisdom from the ghosts of old shamans in the trees and dead and gone.</p> + +<p>"And in the end, as in a vision, came to me the short-haired and +detestable dogs, and the way seemed plain. By the wisdom of Otsbaok, my +father and a strong man, had the blood of our own wolf-dogs been kept +clean, wherefore had they remained warm of hide and strong in the +harness. So I returned to my village and made oration to the men. 'This +be a tribe, these white men,' I said. 'A very large tribe, and doubtless +there is no longer meat in their land, and they are come among us to +make a new land for themselves. But they weaken us, and we die. They are +a very hungry folk. Already has our meat gone from us, and it were well, +if we would live, that we deal by them as we have dealt by their dogs.'</p> + +<p>"And further oration I made, counseling fight. And the men of the +Whitefish listened, and some said one thing, and some another, and some +spoke of other and worthless things, and no man made brave talk of deeds +and war. But while the young men were weak as water and afraid, I +watched that the old men sat silent, and that in their eyes fires came +and went. And later, when the village slept and no one knew, I drew the +old men away into the forest and made more talk. And now we were agreed, +and we remembered the good young days, and the free land, and the times +of plenty, and the gladness and sunshine; and we called ourselves +brothers, and swore great secrecy, and a mighty oath to cleanse the +land of the evil breed that had come upon it. It be plain we were fools, +but how were we to know, we old men of the Whitefish?</p> + +<p>"And to hearten the others, I did the first deed. I kept guard upon the +Yukon till the first canoe came down. In it were two white men, and when +I stood upright upon the bank and raised my hand they changed their +course and drove in to me. And as the man in the bow lifted his head, +so, that he might know wherefore I wanted him, my arrow sang through the +air straight to his throat, and he knew. The second man, who held paddle +in the stern, had his rifle half to his shoulder when the first of my +three spear-casts smote him.</p> + +<p>"'These be the first,' I said, when the old men had gathered to me. +'Later we will bind together all the old men of all the tribes, and +after that the young men who remain strong, and the work will become +easy.'</p> + +<p>"And then the two dead white men we cast into the river. And of the +canoe, which was a very good canoe, we made a fire, and a fire, also, of +the things within the canoe. But first we looked at the things, and they +were pouches of leather which we cut open with our knives. And inside +these pouches were many papers, like that from which thou hast read, O +Howkan, with markings on them which we marveled at and could not +understand. Now, I am become wise, and I know them for the speech of men +as thou hast told me."</p> + +<p>A whisper and buzz went around the court-room when Howkan finished +interpreting the affair of the canoe, and one man's voice spoke up: +"That was the lost '91 mail, Peter James and Delaney bringing it in and +last spoken at Le Barge by Matthews going out." The clerk scratched +steadily away, and another paragraph was added to the history of the +North.</p> + +<p>"There be little more," Imber went on slowly. "It be there on the paper, +the things we did. We were old men, and we did not understand. Even I, +Imber, do not now understand. Secretly we slew, and continued to slay, +for with our years we were crafty and we had learned the swiftness of +going without haste. When white men came among us with black looks and +rough words, and took away six of the young men with irons binding them +helpless, we knew we must slay wider and farther. And one by one we old +men departed up river and down to the unknown lands. It was a brave +thing. Old we were, and unafraid, but the fear of far places is a +terrible fear to men who are old.</p> + +<p>"So we slew, without haste, and craftily. On the Chilkoot and in the +Delta we slew, from the passes to the sea, wherever the white men camped +or broke their trails. It be true, they died, but it was without worth. +Ever did they come over the mountains, ever did they grow and grow, +while we, being old, became less and less. I remember, by the Caribou +Crossing, the camp of a white man. He was a very little white man, and +three of the old men came upon him in his sleep. And the next day I came +upon the four of them. The white man alone still breathed, and there was +breath in him to curse me once and well before he died.</p> + +<p>"And so it went, now one old man, and now another. Sometimes the word +reached us long after of how they died, and sometimes it did not reach +us. And the old men of the other tribes were weak and afraid, and would +not join with us. As I say, one by one, till I alone was left. I am +Imber, of the Whitefish people. My father was Otsbaok, a strong man. +There are no Whitefish now. Of the old men I am the last. The young men +and young women are gone away, some to live with the Pellys, some with +the Salmons, and more with the white men. I am very old, and very tired, +and it being vain fighting the Law, as thou sayest, Howkan, I am come +seeking the Law."</p> + +<p>"O Imber, thou art indeed a fool," said Howkan.</p> + +<p>But Imber was dreaming. The square-browed judge likewise dreamed, and +all his race rose up before him in a mighty phantasmagoria—his +steel-shod, mail-clad race, the law-giver and world-maker among the +families of men. He saw it dawn red-flickering across the dark forests +and sullen seas; he saw it blaze, bloody and red, to full and triumphant +noon; and down the shaded slope he saw the blood-red sands dropping into +night. And through it all he observed the Law, pitiless and potent, ever +unswerving and ever ordaining, greater than the motes of men who +fulfilled it or were crushed by it, even as it was greater than he, his +heart speaking for softness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="DOWN_THE_FLUME_WITH_THE_SNEATH_PIANO" id="DOWN_THE_FLUME_WITH_THE_SNEATH_PIANO"></a><a href="#toc">DOWN THE<br />FLUME WITH THE<br />SNEATH PIANO</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">BAILEY MILLARD</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>The Century Magazine</i> by permission</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/i.jpg" alt="I" /></span> HAD halted at Camp Five to catch my breath. This flying down a Sierran +lumber-flume, scurrying through the heady air like another Phaeton, was +too full of thrills to be taken all in one gasp. I dropped limply into +the rawhide-bottomed chair under the awning in front of the big board +shanty which was on stilts beside the airy flume, and gazed on down the +long, gleaming, tragic, watery way to the next steep slide. Then I +looked at the frail little flume-boat which had borne Oram Sheets and me +thus far on our hazardous journey to the valley. Perhaps I shivered a +bit at the prospect of more of this hair-raising adventure. At any rate, +Oram, the intrepid flume-herder, laughed, dug his picaroon into a log, +and asked:</p> + +<p>"Sorry yeh come? Wal, it does git onto a man's nerve the first trip. +Strange so many brash ones like you wanter try, but few on 'em ever dast +git in ag'in. But I've be'n down so often." Then he peered about the +cabin. "Looks like none o' the boys was to home. Wish they was; they +might git us up a little dinner. It's jest twelve."</p> + +<p>He went inside the open door, and I heard him foraging about, the +shanty echoing hollowly to the clumping of his big boots. By and by his +nasal note was resumed:</p> + +<p>"Come in, pardner! Here's a great find: a big can o' green gages an' a +hunk o' jerk an' a lot o' cold biscuits."</p> + +<p>Inside, with my legs under the greasy, coverless table, I chewed the +jerk like one who was determined to give his jaws the benefit of +strenuous physical culture, and listened while Oram rattled on, with his +mouth full of the sodden, half-baked biscuits.</p> + +<p>"You mightn't think it," said he, "but three years ago this here was the +most scrumptious camp on the hull flume. Ol' man Hemenway lived here +then with his daughter Jess. She kep' house fer him. Jess was a great +gal. Every man along the flume, from Skyland to Mill Flat, was in love +with her. Shape? You couldn't beat that there gal for figger if yeh was +to round up every actress in the country. She had a pair o' big round +baby-blue eyes, an' was as pretty as any o' them there cigarette +picters. A little on the strawbary-blonde, but not too much red in her +hair, an' yet spunky as a badger when yeh teased her.</p> + +<p>"The boys down this way didn't have much show. It looked like Jess had +hit it off with Jud Brusie, a big, husky, clean-lookin' chap up to the +h'ist. Jud used ter send her down notes stuck in sticks wedged inter the +clamps, an' he used ter sneak down this way on Sundays when he'd git a +chanst. She'd meet him up to the Riffles there by that big bunch o' +yaller pines we passed. He didn't dast come down here nary time till ol' +man Hemenway he got laid up with a busted laig from slippin' off the +trestle in the snow. That there was Jud's show ter git in his fine work. +Used ter bring down deer-meat for the ol' man, an' sody-water from that +there spoutin' spring up ter Crazy Cañon; an' it begun to look like +Hemenway'd give in an' let him have her. But he seemed to hold off.</p> + +<p>"The boys used ter nearly josh the life out o' Jud. One fellow—his name +was Phil Pettis—was skunkin' mean enough to read a note Jud sent down +oncet an' tell about it roun' Skyland; but that was the only time any of +'em ever done anything like that, fer Jud jest laid fer Phil an' went +through him like a buzz-saw an' chucked him inter the flume.</p> + +<p>"No, it didn't kill Phil, but he got tol'able well used up. His clothes +was nearly all tore off, an' his hands got some bruised where he caught +on to the aidges before he got a holt an' lifted himself out in a still +place. He'd be'n all right only he got mixed up with a string o' lumber +that was a-comin' down, an' so he had to go to the hospital.</p> + +<p>"One thing about Jess—she was a singer all right. I ain't never heer'd +ary one o' them there the-<i>ay</i>-ter gals that could beat her singin'. She +warbled like a lark with his belly full o' grubworms. It was wuth ridin' +a clamp from here to Mill Flat to hear her sing. She had a couple o' +hymn-books an' a stack o' them coon songs the newspapers gives away, an' +I tell yeh, she'd sing them there songs like she'd knowed 'em all her +life. Picked out the tunes some ways on a little string-thing like a +sawed-off guitar. Sounds like muskeeters hummin' aroun'. Yes, a +mandy-linn—that's it. But that there mandy-linn didn't soot her a +little bit. She was crazy ter have a pianner. I heer'd her tell her paw, +who was aroun' ag'in workin' after his busted laig got well, she'd give +ten years o' her life for any ol' cheap pianner he could skeer up fer +her.</p> + +<p>"'Wal,' says he, 'how in tunket am I a-goin' ter git anything like +that—thirty miles off'n the road, an' nary way o' freightin' it up or +down the cañon to this camp?'</p> + +<p>"'Couldn't yeh have it brung up to Skyland by the stage road,' asts she, +'an' then have it rafted down the flume? Jest a little one?' she asts +very earnest-like.</p> + +<p>"'Gee whittaker!' says he, laughin' all over. 'You'll be a-wantin' 'em +to send yeh down a parlor-keer nex'.'</p> + +<p>"Then she gits hot in the collar an' cries an' takes on, an' Jud, who +was a-hangin' aroun', has to walk her up to the Riffles; an' he must 'a' +comforted her a heap, fer she comes back alone, singin,' 'Nearer, my +God, to Thee,' like a angel.</p> + +<p>"The' was a big spill up to the Devil's Gate,—one o' them places back +there where the flume hangs onto the side o' the cliff, about half a +mile above the bottom o' the gulch,—an' Jud Brusie an' all hands has to +work there three days an' nights ter git things straightened out. Jud +worked so derned hard, up all night an' hangin' on ter the ropes he was +let up an' down by till yeh'd think he was ready to drop, that the +soop'rintendent said he'd make Jud flume boss when he got back from Noo +York, where he was a-goin' fer a few months. The soop'rintendent—that's +Mr. Sneath—went over the hull flume with Jud a little while before he +lit out for the East, p'intin' things out ter him that he wanted did +when he got back. I was down here flume-herdin' at Five when him an' Jud +come along in a dude-lookin' flume-boat, rigged out in great style. I +stopped 'em back there a ways with my picaroon, when they sung out, an' +they walked down here on the side planks. Jest as they got near the camp +the soop'rintendent he stopped like he'd struck a rotten plank an' +stared at the house.</p> + +<p>"'Who's that singin'?' says he.</p> + +<p>"'Miss. Hemenway,' says Jud, proud-like.</p> + +<p>"'She's got an awful sweet voice,' says the ol' man. 'It oughter be +trained. She ought to go to a hot-house'—or something like that. +'Conservatory?' Yes, that's it.</p> + +<p>"'She's mighty anxious to l'arn,' says Jud. 'She wants a pianner awful +bad.'</p> + +<p>"'Does she?' says the soop'rintendent. 'She oughter have one.'</p> + +<p>"When he come along to the house he says to Jess, who stuck her head +outer the door an' looked kinder skeer'd-like, says he, 'I wish yeh'd +sing a few songs fer me.'</p> + +<p>"Wal, yeh could see wal enough that Jess's knees was a-knockin' +together, but she tunes up her mandy-linn, scratches at the strings with +a little chip, an' gits started all right on 'Rock o' Ages,' an' gits to +goin' along kinder quavery-like fer a while, an' then she busts right +inter, 'He'r dem Bells,' so strong an' high an' wild that it takes the +ol' man right out o' his boots.</p> + +<p>"He claps his hands an' yells, 'Hooray! Give us another!'</p> + +<p>"Then she saws along on, 'Gather at the River,' an' chops inter, 'All +Coons Looks Alike ter Me,' in a way to stop the mill.</p> + +<p>"Her paw stan's aroun' all the while, tickled t' death an' smilin' all +over.</p> + +<p>"'Wal,' says the soop'rintendent, when Jess she stops ter git her wind, +'yer all right, Miss. Hemenway. Yer as full o' music as a wind-harp in a +tornado.' Then he says to her paw on the Q. T., 'If yeh was ter let that +gal go ter the city an' l'arn some o' them high-toned op'ry songs, yeh +wouldn't have to be picaroonin' lumber strings much longer.'</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' says Hemenway, bloated up like a gobbler an' lookin' at Jess +where she stan's with her face red an' still a-puffin' for breath; 'an' +she thinks she could l'arn right here if she only had a pianner.'</p> + +<p>"'She'd oughter have one,' says Mr. Sneath. 'I wish——' he says, an' +then he breaks off like a busted log-chain. 'But we couldn't git it down +here.'</p> + +<p>'"What's that?' asts Hemenway.</p> + +<p>"'We got a pianner up to our place, an' Mrs. Sneath won't be a-fingerin' +on it fer five months. She's a-goin' East with me. If we could only git +it down here an' back all right. If the' 's only a road from Skyland +down here or from Mill Flat up, but the' ain't, so the' 's no use +talkin'. Couldn't ship it down to the Flat an' up on mule-back, or +nothin', either; so I guess it can't be did.'</p> + +<p>"'Why not send it down the flume?' asts Jess, timid-like. I could see +she was jest crazy about gittin' it.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, the flume is old, an' it's rotten in places, an' such a heavy load +might go through.'</p> + +<p>"'Why, it holds up the grub-boat all right,' says Jess 'Oh, if I could +only have that pianner down here! I can play a little already, an' I'd +l'arn a lot. I'd practise eight hours a day.'</p> + +<p>"'How about gittin' the meals?' asts Hemenway.</p> + +<p>"'Wal, I'd set up, then, an' practise all night,' says she.</p> + +<p>"'I'm afeard that 'u'd be pretty hard on yer paw,' says Mr. Sneath, +smilin'. 'Wal, Jud, we got ter be goin'.'</p> + +<p>"So they gits inter their dude boat, an' Jess she skips along after 'em, +an' jest as they's about to ontie she yells out to the soop'rintendent:</p> + +<p>"'Cain't I have it? Cain't I have it? Cain't yeh send it down the flume? +Please say yeh will. I'll take the best kind o' keer of it. It sha'n't +git a single scratch.'</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sneath he looks at her a minute kinder tender-like, an' I knowed +them big eyes o' hern was a-doin' their work. Them big soft baby eyes +would 'a' drawed sap outer a dead log.</p> + +<p>"'Wal,' says he, 'we'll see. If Mrs. Sneath's willin' I guess it'll be +all right.'</p> + +<p>"'Thank you, thank you, thank you!' she yells as the boat flies down the +flume.</p> + +<p>"I seed Jud blow a kiss to her, an' I knowed she was happy as a bird. +She was a-singin' aroun' the shanty all day, an' at supper she done +nothin' but talk, talk, talk about that there pianner.</p> + +<p>"'Don't be so awful gay, Miss. Hemenway,' says I, for I was afeard she +might be disapp'inted. 'Yeh ain't got it yet. Yeh know, Mr. Sneath's a' +awful busy man, an' he may fergit it.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, he won't fergit! Jud'll poke him up on it,' says she. 'An' I think +I'll have it put right over there in that corner. No, that's on the +flume side, an' it might draw dampness there. Over there by the winder's +the place, an' plenty o' light, too. Wonder if they'll think to send +down a stool.'</p> + +<p>"I had to skin up to Skyland nex' day. Jud says the soop'rintendent has +to light out quicker'n he'd thought, but he didn't fergit about the +pianner. Mis' Sneath was as easy as greased skids, but Mr. Sneath he +didn't know exactly. He sends the pianner over to the warehouse there +'longside the flume an' has the men slap together a stout boat to run +her down in; but at the las' minute he backs out. He was a-lookin' at +the pianner standin' there in the warehouse, an' he says to Jud, says +he:</p> + +<p>"'That there pianner has be'n in our family ever sence we was married. +Marthy allus sot a heap o' store by that pianner. It was my first +present to her, an' I know she thinks a hull lot of it, even if she +don't seem ter keer. Trouble is, she don't know what sendin' it down the +flume means. Yeh see, it ain't like a long string o' lumber—weight's +all in one place, an' she might break through. This flume ain't what it +was thirteen years ago, yeh know.'</p> + +<p>"Jud he argies with him, 'cos he knows Jess's heart'll be broke if she +don't git the pianner; an' after a while he thinks he's got it all +fixed; but jest afore Sneath an' his wife takes the stage he telaphones +down to the warehouse to let the pianner stay there till he comes back. +Then he goes away, an' Jud is as down in the mouth as if he'd run his +fist ag'in' a band-saw. He mopes aroun' all day, an' he's afeard to +tell Jess; but as I was a-goin' back to Five that night, he tells me to +break it to her gentle-like an' say he'd done his best. Which I did. +Wal, that gal jest howls when I tells her, an' sobs an' sobs an' takes +on like a baby coyote with the croup. But her dad he quiets her at last.</p> + +<p>"Jud he hardly dasts to show up on Sunday, but when he does, she won't +look at him fer quite a while. Then some o' that strawbary-blonde in her +comes out in some o' the dernedest scoldin' yeh ever heer'd.</p> + +<p>"'It's too bad, Jessie,' says he, 'but it ain't my fault. I done my +best. He backed out at the las' minute; he backed out, an' I couldn't do +no more than if a tree dropped on me. He backed out.'</p> + +<p>"After a while he takes her off up the flume a piece, an' they stays +there a long time, but she don't seem satisfied much when she comes +back. There is hell a-poppin' there for about three days over that there +pianner, an' the ol' man he gits so sick of it he gives her warnin' +he'll light out if she don't quit. Wal, she quiets down some after that, +but she makes Jud as mis'able as a treed coon fer over a week. She keeps +a-tryin' an' a-tryin' to git him to send the pianner down anyway. She +tells him she'll send it back afore the Sneaths gits home.</p> + +<p>"'He told me I could have it; he promised me,' says she, 'he promised +me, an' I'll never marry you unless you send it down. You can do it; +you're goin' to be boss, an' you know it will be all right. I'll see +that they ain't a scratch on it; an' you can put it in the warehouse, +an' they'll never know it's be'n away.'</p> + +<p>"An' so she keeps a-teasin' an' a-teasin', till finally Jud he gits +desperate.</p> + +<p>"'Oram,' says he to me one day, 'Oram, you're an ol' flume man. What do +you think o' runnin' that pianner down to Five?'</p> + +<p>"I shakes my head. I likes the boy, an' I don't want ter see him take +sech big chances o' gittin' inter trouble. Somebody might tell Sneath, +an' then it might be all off about his bein' flume boss. Besides, nobody +had never run no pianner down no flume before, an' yeh couldn't tell +what might happen.</p> + +<p>"'D' yeh think, honest, Oram,' says he, 'the ol' flume's likely ter give +way anywheres?'</p> + +<p>"'No,' says I; 'she's strong as a railroad-track.'</p> + +<p>"'Wal, then,' says he, 'I'm a-goin' to do it. You come down Sunday an' +we'll take her out afore anybody's out o' the bunk-house.'</p> + +<p>"I tries to argy him out of it, but he won't listen. So Sunday, about +five in the mornin', I goes up to Skyland, an' we slides the big boat +inter the flume an' gits the pianner onto the rollers, an' 't ain't much +trouble to load her all right; fer, yer know, them big boats has flat +tops like decks, an' things sets up on top of 'em. But while we was +a-doin' that an' the boat is hitched tight to a stanchion 'longside o' +the flume, the water backs up behind so high that it looks as though the +pianner is a-goin' ter git wet. This skeers Jud, an' he seems to lose +his head someways.</p> + +<p>"'Hustle up, Oram!' says he, very nervous-like. 'The boat's crowdin' +down so it won't let any water past. Ontie that rope.'</p> + +<p>"I takes a good notice o' the pianner, an' I don't like her looks, +sittin' up there so high on that little deck.</p> + +<p>"'We oughter tie her on good an' tight,' says I.</p> + +<p>"She's a upright, yeh see, an' she's as top-heavy as a pile-driver. I +was afeard she'd strike a low limb or somethin' an' git smashed. So I +goes to settle her a bit an' lay her down on her back an' tie her on; +but he says he don't know about that layin'-down business, an' declares +she'll ride all right. He speaks pretty sharp, too. So I gits a little +huffy an' onties the rope, an' we starts.</p> + +<p>"Wal, she don't go very fast at first, 'cos she's heavy an' they ain't +none too much water in front; but after a while we comes to the Devil's +Slide,—you remember the place,—an' we scoots down there like the +mill-tails o' hell.</p> + +<p>"'Gee-whiz!' says Jud. 'She's a-rockin' like a teeter. I hope she'll +stay on all right.' He was settin' back with me, behind the pianner, an' +we both tries to holt on to her an' keep her stiddy, but we cain't do +much more'n set down an' cuss haff the time, we're so afeard we'll git +throwed out. Wal, after we come to the foot of the slide, we breathes +easy-like, an' Jud he says it's all right, for that there was the wust +place. For about three miles the pianner set on that boat as stiddy as a +church, an' from there on down to Four it was pretty good sailin'. Of +course we went a good deal faster in the steep places than any other +boat ever sent down the flume, because the heft o' the thing, when she +got started, was bound to make her fly, water or no water. In a good +many places we run ahead o' the stream, an' then in the quiet spots the +water would catch up to us an' back up behind us an' shove us along.</p> + +<p>"Between Four an' Five there's a place we used ter call Cape Horn. The +flume is bracketed onto a cliff, yeh know, fer about a mile, an' it's a +skeery place any way yeh shoot it; yeh scoot aroun' them there sharp +curves so lively, an' yeh look down there four or five hundred feet +inter the bottom o' the cañon. That's where yeh shut yer eyes. Yeh +remember? Wal, when I sees Cape Horn ahead I gits a little skeer'd when +I thinks how she might rock. We run onto a place where I could look away +ahead, an' there, wavin' her apron or somethin', is a gal, an' I knows +it's Jess, out from Five to see the pianner come down. Jud he knows, +too, an' waves back.</p> + +<p>"We runs out onto the brackets, turns a sharp curve, an' she begins to +wabble an' stagger like a drunken man, floppin' back an' forth, an' the +strings an' things inside is a-hummin' an' a-drummin'.</p> + +<p>"'Slow her down!' yells Jud. 'Slow her down, or we'll never git past the +Horn!'</p> + +<p>"I claps on the brake, but she's so heavy she don't pay no 'tention to +it, though I makes smoke 'long them planks, I tell yer. She scoots ahead +faster'n ever, an' bows to the scenery, this way an' that, like she was +crazy, an' a-hummin' harder than ever.</p> + +<p>"'Slow her down! Ease her down!' hollers Jud, grittin' his teeth an' +holdin' onto her with all his hundred an' eighty pounds weight. But 't +ain't no good. I gits a holt oncet, but the water backs up behind us an' +we goes a-scootin' down on a big wave that sloshes out o' the flume on +both sides an' sends us flyin' toward that Horn fer further orders.</p> + +<p>"When we gits to the sharpest curve we knows we're there all right. She +wabbles on one side an' then on the other, so I can see chunks o' sky +ahead right under her. An' then, all of a sudden, she gives a whoopin' +big jump right off the top o' the boat, an' over the side o' the flume +she goes, her strings all a-singin' like mad, an' sailin' down four +hundred feet. Jud had a holt of her before she dropped, an' if I hadn't +'a' grabbed him he'd 'a' gone over, too.</p> + +<p>"You might not believe it, pardner, but we run a quarter of a mile down +that there flume before we hears her strike. Jeroosalem! What a crash! I +ever heer'd one o' them big redwoods that made half so much noise when +she dropped. How she did roar! An' I tell yeh what was strange about +that there noise: it seemed like all the music that everybody had ever +expected to play on that pianner for the nex' hundred years come +a-boomin' out all to oncet in one great big whoop-hurray that echered up +an' down that cañon fer half an hour.</p> + +<p>"'We've lost somethin',' says I, cheerful-like, fer I thinks the' 's no +use cryin' over spilt pianners.</p> + +<p>"But Jud he never says nothin',—jest sets there like he was froze plumb +stiff an' couldn't stir a eyelid—sets there, starin' straight ahead +down the flume. Looks like his face is caught in the air and held that +way.</p> + +<p>"Of course, now our load's gone, the brake works all right, an' I hooks +a-holt onto the side about a hundred feet from where Jess stands like a +marble statute, lookin' down inter the gulch.</p> + +<p>"'Come on, Jud,' says I, layin' my hand onto his arm soft-like; 'we gits +out here.'</p> + +<p>"He don't say nothin', but tries to shake me off. I gits him out at +last, an' we goes over to where poor Jess stands, stiff an' starin' down +inter the gulch. When she hears our feet on the side planks, she starts +up an' begins to beller like a week-old calf; an' that fetches Jud outer +his trance for a while, an' he puts his arm aroun' her an' he helps her +back along the walk till we comes to a place where we gits down an' goes +over to view the wreck.</p> + +<p>"Great snakes, pardner, but it was a sight! The pianner had flew down +an' lit onto a big, flat rock, an' the' wasn't a piece of her left as +big as that there plate. There was all kinds o' wires a-wrigglin' aroun' +on the ground an' a-shinin' in the sun, an' the' was white keys an' +black keys an' the greatest lot o' them little woolly things that +strikes the strings all mixed up with little bits o' mahogany an' nuts +an' bolts an' little scraps o' red flannel an' leather, an' pegs an' +bits o' iron that didn't look as if it had ever been any part o' the +machine. It was the dernedest mess! I picked up somethin' Jess said was +a pedal,—a little piece o' shiny iron about as long as that,—'n' that +was the only thing that seemed to have any shape left to it. The litter +didn't make any pile at all—jest a lot o' siftin' sawdust-stuff +scattered aroun' on the rocks.</p> + +<p>"'She struck tol'able hard,' says I, lookin' at Jud. But he don't say +nothin'; jest stan's over there on the side o' the rock an' looks as if +he'd like to jump off another fifty feet the' was there.</p> + +<p>"'Don't take it like that, Jud,' says Jess, grabbin' holt o' him an' not +payin' any 'tention to my bein' there. 'Cry, cuss, swear—anything, but +don't be so solemn-like. It's my fault, Juddie dear—all my fault. Can +yeh ever, ever fergive me? Yeh said yeh didn't think it was safe, an' I +kep' a-goadin' yeh to it; an' now——' She broke out a-blubberin' an' +a-bellerin' again, an' he puts his arm aroun' her an' smiles, an' says +soft-like:</p> + +<p>"'It don't matter much. I can raise the money an' buy a new one fer Mis' +Sneath. How much do they cost?' says he.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, I dunno! Five hundred dollars, I think. It's an awful lot o' +money!'</p> + +<p>"'Wal, I got three-fifty saved up,—you know what fer,—an' I can raise +the rest an' put a new pianner in the place o' that one,' says he.</p> + +<p>"He looks at the wreck, an' fer the first time I sees his eyes is jest a +little damp.</p> + +<p>"They didn't either of 'em seem to take any notice o' me, an' I didn't +feel that I counted, nohow.</p> + +<p>"'An' we cain't git married,' says Jud, sorrowful-like, 'fer ever so +long. There'll be nothin' to house-keep on till I can save up some +more.'</p> + +<p>"'Yes, we can, too,' says she. 'I don't keer if yeh ain't got so much as +a piece o' bale-rope.'</p> + +<p>"'But yer paw?'</p> + +<p>"'I don't keer,' says she, very hard-like, a-stampin' her foot. 'He can +like it or lump it.'</p> + +<p>"Wal, I sneaks away an' leaves 'em there, an' by an' by they comes up to +where I sets on top o' the boat, an' Jud isn't so plumb gloomy as I +thinks he'd be.</p> + +<p>"Him an' her goes down ter Fresno nex' day an' buys one o' that same +identical make o' pianners an' has it shipped up on the first +freight-wagon to Skyland. An' they puts it inter the warehouse, an' +there she stands till Mr. Sneath comes home with his wife.</p> + +<p>"When Mis' Sneath she sees the pianner brung inter her house she don't +notice any difference fer a while; but one day she sets down ter play, +an' she pounds out a few music, an' then she gives a jump an' looks all +over the machine an' she says, 'Good Lord!' An' Sneath he comes in, an' +they has a great time over how the' 's be'n sech a change in that +pianner. She finally makes up her mind it's a bran'-new one, an' sends +fer Jud an' asts him what he knows about it. An' he cain't lie a little +bit, so he up an' tells her that her pianner is all inter sawdust an' +scrap-iron down on the rocks, an' that this is a new one that he owes a +hundred an' fifty dollars on down ter Fresno.</p> + +<p>"Then she busts out a-laughin', an' says:</p> + +<p>"'Why, that old tin-pan! I'm glad it flew the flume. It wasn't wuth +twenty dollars. I got a noo grand pianner on the way here that I ordered +in Noo York. I'll make this here one a weddin' present to you an' Jess.'</p> + +<p>"And the soop'rintendent he writes out his check an' sends it down to +Fresno to pay off the hundred an' fifty, an' when the weddin' it comes +off he gives 'em a set o' chiny dishes besides.</p> + +<p>"Jud's flume boss now, an' Jess she plays that pianner an' sings like a +bird. When we gits down ter Mill Flat I'll show yeh their house. It's a +white one up on the side o' the hill, jest across the gulch from the +mill.</p> + +<p>"Wal, yeh had all the grub yeh want, pardner? Say, ain't them green +gages sour? They sets yer teeth on aidge all right. An' I couldn't find +the boys' sugar-can. If yer full up, I guess we'd better git inter the +boat."</p> + +<p>I took my seat behind Oram and a particularly offensive pipe he had +just lighted. Looking down the long, swift-running, threatening flume, I +shuddered; for since Oram's recital the native hue of my resolution had +been "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." I remarked that if +he saw any of those Cape Horn curves ahead to let me know and I would +get out and walk.</p> + +<p>"Don't yeh be skeer'd by what I told yeh," said he. "Yeh got a pretty +fair-sized head, but yeh ain't quite so top-heavy as Mis' Sneath's big +upright. An', besides, the' ain't no more Cape Horn on this flume; they +calls that place Pianner P'int now."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="THE_CONTUMACY_OF_SARAH_L_WALKER" id="THE_CONTUMACY_OF_SARAH_L_WALKER"></a><a href="#toc">THE CONTUMACY OF<br />SARAH L. WALKER</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">MIRIAM MICHELSON</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>Munsey's Magazine</i> of April, 1904 by permission</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/t.jpg" alt="T" /></span>HE BOARD will now pass to consideration of the case of Mrs.—Mrs. +Walker."</p> + +<p>The president looked from the report in front of her to the +superintendent sitting opposite.</p> + +<p>The Rev. Alexander McCaleb rose slowly to his feet.</p> + +<p>"I regret exceedingly," he said, "to have to report this case to the +board. I need not say that if it had been possible to convince Mrs. +Walker of the error of her ways, no pains or time would have been +spared. But I have done all that I could. Mrs. Walker persists. +She—ah!—she flouts all authority, and—ah!—sets such an example of +rebellious conduct that I fear the discipline of the home may be gravely +compromised."</p> + +<p>The president knitted her pretty, dark brows. Her hair was white, with a +soft, youthful whiteness that haloed her head as if it was a joke of old +Time's. She was new to her office, and was conscious of a critical +atmosphere that subtly underlined the formality of the proceedings—an +official formality that made the meeting of the lady managers of this +Old People's Home a formidable affair.</p> + +<p>"I see no record of any case of disciplining heretofore," she said, +troubled. "There is no precedent by which the chair can be——"</p> + +<p>"But there are the by-laws," suggested the superintendent. He reached +over to his own desk, and read from a pamphlet that had lain open there: +"If any inmate of the home shall persistently and willfully disobey the +rules, the superintendent shall report such case to the board of +managers. If, after full and complete investigation, and a notice to +that effect having been duly served, said inmate shall continue to +persist in contumacy, the board is by a majority vote empowered to +expel."</p> + +<p>A little hush fell upon the assemblage at this invocation of its dread +powers.</p> + +<p>"It seems rather hard on the old bodies, doesn't it?" the president was +encouraged to remark.</p> + +<p>"But it is plainly stated in the by-laws," said the recording secretary, +a bright-eyed, business-like matron.</p> + +<p>"And dear Mr. McCaleb is so patient and tactful that it is seldom +necessary," remarked the single member of this week's visiting +committee.</p> + +<p>"I thank you, Mrs. Davis." The superintendent bowed in his stateliest +manner. "I do my best—I try always to do my best. Old people are +trying, we all know."</p> + +<p>The president looked up from her perusal of the by-laws.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we have the old lady in," she said. "Mr. McCaleb, will you send +for Mrs. Walker?"</p> + +<p>The old lady held her head haughtily as she walked into the handsomely +furnished office. The president, mindful of her official capacity, +looked severely upon Mrs. Walker—Sarah Lucinda Walker, according to the +cramped signature of the home's register, widow, native of Maine, aged +sixty-seven on her entrance into the home five years ago. And Mrs. +Walker—a miracle of aged neatness, trim, straight, little, in her +somber black and immaculate cap—looked severely back.</p> + +<p>"Be seated, Mrs. Walker," said the president.</p> + +<p>"Thank you." Mrs. Walker crossed with a formal "Good morning, ladies," +and took the chair indicated.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. McCaleb, if you please——" said the president.</p> + +<p>The superintendent rose.</p> + +<p>"Ladies," he began with a solemnity that made the offender quake within, +though outwardly she was calm as the president herself, "it is with +positive pain that I have to report to you the case of Mrs. Sarah +Lucinda Walker. It is now fully three months since I began to labor with +her—three months since I warned her of this very thing that has come to +pass, an investigation by your honorable board. On the 9th of +January"—he glanced methodically at a note-book—"I sent her a copy of +the by-laws, with the section referring to insubordination underscored +in red ink. On the 23d I made a personal call upon her, and sought to +convince her how impossible it was that such conduct could be tolerated. +On February 7th I publicly reprimanded her. On the 13th—five days +ago—I informed her that, after considering it prayerfully, I had laid +the matter before your honorable body, and that she should hold herself +in readiness to be summoned before you to meet the following charges:</p> + +<p>"First, insubordination; second, breaking Rule VIII of the house +regulations; third, taking food from the table; fourth, disturbing +neighbors in early morning; and fifth, defacing the building."</p> + +<p>Mr. McCaleb took his seat. The shocked gaze of the board bent itself +upon the criminal. The bad little old lady's far-sighted eyes swept +insolently past them all and met the president's—twenty years younger +than her own.</p> + +<p>"Do you like birds, ma'am?" she asked, herself in an eager, bird-like +way. And then, without waiting for an answer, she went on: "I love +'em—anything that's got wings. Old Cap'n Walker used to say, 'Sary +Lucindy, they was a moughty fine ornithologist spiled when God A'mighty +made you a woman 'stead of a man.' He was a free-spoken man, Cap'n +Walker, not so pious-mouthed as some, but he had charity in his soul, +which is more than some others has."</p> + +<p>She swept a superbly disdainful look toward the Rev. McCaleb. The +recording secretary tapped reprovingly with her pencil, but the +president only listened.</p> + +<p>"Now, ma'am, we ain't paupers, we old folks. Every one of us, as you +know, has paid our thousand dollars in. An' we ain't bad children as +needs disciplinin'; an' they's no use treatin' grandmothers an' +great-grandmothers as though they was. It's in me to love birds, an' no +'mount of rules and regulations is goin' to change me. My canary bird +died the same year Cap'n Walker saved every other soul on board his +ship and went down alone to the bottom with her. Since then I've sort o' +adopted the sparrers. Why, haven't I spent every afternoon through the +summer out in the park a-feedin' them my lunch? An' now that winter's +come, d'ye think I'd have the face to desert them?</p> + +<p>"'Not one of them is forgotten before God'—do you remember, ma'am? One +of 'em seemed to be in the early winter. It was before my rheumatism got +so bad. I was out in the park the afternoon the first snow fell, an' +this poor little crittur with a wing broke kep' a trailin' an' chirpin' +an' scuttlin' in front o' me. It'd fell out o' the nest; hardly covered +with feathers, it was. I picked it up an' carried it to my room in my +apron. Poor little mite—how it fluttered an' struggled! I kep' it +overnight in my spool-box. In the mornin' I fed it; by noon the sun come +out, an' I let it out on the window-sill, where I keep my house plants; +just a bit o' musk—the cap'n liked musk—an' a pot o' bergamot. Do you +know, ma'am, that little thing was that contented by the end of the week +that I could leave the windows open an' nary a wing's stroke away would +it go? That was in December, 'fore it got to be known that I kep' a bird +in my room. That mild spell we had 'fore Christmas it did fly away one +morning, but at sundown there it was back again; an' when it came on to +snow that night I felt same's I used to 'tween voyages, when I could +hear how the ocean'd get lashed to a fury, an' Cap'n Walker'd be fast +asleep safe beside me.</p> + +<p>"Of course it was a pity that when the bird came back it showed others +the way—but wasn't it cute of it, ma'am? An' wasn't it just like a lot +o' children hangin' 'round at maple-syrup time? They did make a clatter +an' a racket in the early mornin' when I wouldn't be up an' they'd be +ready for breakfast. But wasn't it for all the world like children with +empty little stummicks an' chatterin' tongues? When Mis' Pearson +complained of me an' the noise, I didn't take it kind of her. Take food +from the table? Course I did. But it was my own lunch, that I'd a right +to go hungry for ef I wanted to, an' nobody's affair.</p> + +<p>"But I tell you, ma'am, one day—it was that day Mr. McCaleb sent me +that printed notice, an' everybody on my floor see it comin' an' knew it +was something shameful an' legal—that evening I tried honestly to keep +'em out. I pulled down the shade—it was a bitter cold day, a regular +blizzard blowing—an' I sat with my back to the window an' tried to read +my Bible while them birds jest shrieked themselves hoarse outside. Well, +guess where that Bible opened to! 'Yea, the sparrow hath found a house +and the swallow a nest for herself where she may lay her young.' That +was a message, ma'am, a straight, sure message. I opened the window an' +scattered their bread-crumbs out on the sill, which I had made jest the +least bit wider for them—that's what he calls 'defacin' the buildin'.' +After that, I told Mr. McCaleb flat-footed that if he had the heart to +starve them innocent critturs in the dead o' winter, it was more than I +had. I told him if he'd wait till spring, I'd promise never to open the +window that faces south after that; but till they could shift for +themselves, I'd shift for them. That's all. Thank <i>you</i>, ma'am, for +letting me have my say."</p> + +<p>She smiled into the president's soft eyes, and rose, looking like a +trim, saucy, gray-haired sparrow about to take flight. The president's +smile started back to her, but on the way it had to pass the recording +secretary, the visiting committee, and the Rev. Alexander McCaleb. By +the time it had made the journey it was shorn of half its sympathetic +understanding.</p> + +<p>"You admit then, Mrs. Walker, that you have broken the rule against +having pets in the room?" the president asked with gravity. "It is a +necessary rule. Fancy what would be the condition of the place if a lady +in No. 117 had a tame sparrow, a gentleman in No. 120 a monkey, his +neighbor a spaniel, the lady across the way a cat, and so on! I +appreciate—we all do, and Mr. McCaleb more than all of us—how tender +and charitable a nature yours is, but"—she looked at the recording +secretary to gain courage—"but we simply must enforce the rules. I know +so good a housekeeper as you must have been will understand this, and +agree with me when I say that such a disciplinarian as Captain Walker no +doubt was—unfortunately, I never had the pleasure of his +acquaintance—would have been the first to counsel you to obey the +rules. Won't you think it over from our point of view, Mrs. Walker, when +you go back to your room? Do! Good afternoon."</p> + +<p>It was a very dejected Sarah Lucinda Walker that returned to her room. +Her depression was noted and audibly commented upon by Mrs. Pearson, her +next-door neighbor and arch-enemy. In fact, the whole corridor was alive +with the news of her defeat. At the lunch-table it was the sole topic +of conversation, and in the library old Colonel Rockwell—in the pauses +of a quavering rendition of "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep"—bet Mr. +Patterson three of the cigars his nephew always sent him on Fridays that +Mrs. Walker, being a woman of spirit, would not yield even though the +ultimatum were expulsion.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walker heard of the wager, of course, that afternoon. They were a +hundred or more antiquated and unseaworthy vessels, all anchored in a +semi-genteel haven; and from morning till night, till sun should cease +for them to shine and water to flow they had nothing to do but to listen +to the whispering tide that told of the great ocean of life beyond, or +to gossip among themselves of their own voyages dead and done.</p> + +<p>The incorrigible Mrs. Walker's spotless little room, with its bag of +dried crusts on the window-sill, saved for her pet, became the storm +center that afternoon. Every old lady who could possibly claim +acquaintance called to inquire her intentions; every old gentleman +leaned hard upon his cane as he lifted his hat to her in the halls with +the deference due a gallant rebel. They loved a rebel, these old +children, at the end of their lives fallen again into the domain of "you +must" and "you must not."</p> + +<p>Sarah Lucinda Walker's world rocked beneath her. She intended, she +believed, to obey the rules, to cast off the one creature on earth to +which she could still play Lady Bountiful; to shut her hospitable window +and her loving old heart on all these fluttering, visiting strangers who +had heard of her generosity, and with every hour carried the news of it +further.</p> + +<p>She intended all this, but when the time came she did simply as old +Colonel Rockwell had wagered she would. She opened wide her windows and +fed the hungry throng that whirred about her, scattering crumbs and +floating feathers over the immaculate marble of Mr. McCaleb's front +door-step.</p> + +<p>A knock at the door brought her to her senses. She put a withered little +old hand, very like a sparrow's claw, upon the window-sash to shut it +hastily, and then, too proud to deceive, turned boldly to meet her fate.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pearson, on the lookout at her half-open door saw the +official-looking document handed to her.</p> + +<p>"It's her notice to leave," she said in an awed whisper to herself.</p> + +<p>In the face of so great a calamity she felt, not triumph, but a shocked +sense of loss, of self-reproach. Five minutes after she was in her +enemy's room.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't—you mustn't cry, dear Mrs. Walker," she sobbed, putting +her arms about the slender old shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Am I crying?" the little old lady answered. "I can't help it—I'm so +happy!"</p> + +<p>"Happy!" Mrs. Pearson's dazed old eyes turned bewildered from the +envelope with the home's letterhead on it to the bird-like creature in +her arms. "And you've got your notice to leave?"</p> + +<p>"Did you think it was that? So did I for a minute, an' it 'most killed +me. But I opened it, an' found a note from the president—that dear, +dear president! She wants to know if I'll take care of her summer +cottage till the spring comes. An', Marthy Pearson, they's chickens up +there—fancy breeds—a whole yard of 'em—an' I'm to have the feedin' of +'em. Ain't it enough to make a body cry for joy? Say, Marthy, would +you—would you mind feedin' the sparrers?—only on the very stormiest +days—McCaleb would never suspect you, an' spring's near!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="BREAKING_THROUGH" id="BREAKING_THROUGH"></a><a href="#toc">BREAKING THROUGH</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">W. C. MORROW</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>Success Magazine</i> of September, 1906 by permission</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/r.jpg" alt="R" /></span>AY," SAID his mother, whom he shyly and secretly worshipped, without +her ever suspecting the least of it beneath his cautious reserve and +occasional outbursts of temper, "my son, I hope you will remember, +tonight. You are nearly a man."</p> + +<p>She was a wise woman, and said it kindly and meant it well; but his face +flamed, his eyes hardened, and he sullenly walked away. Mrs. Gilbert +sighed, and went about the preparations for the young people's party +which her daughters, aged sixteen and eighteen, were to give that +evening. She could not foresee what her son would do. Would her gentle +warning, filled with the tender pride of a mother's love for her one +man-child, drive him with his dog to the woods, whither many a time +before this day a word less pointed had sent him, there to live for a +week or longer at a time, in a manner that he had never disclosed?—or +would the disjointed thing within him which harried his somber, lonely +life force him in a blind moment to make a disgraceful scene at the +gathering? She prayed that neither would happen, and that the sunshine +fighting for egress through his darkness would come forth soft and +genial and very fine and sweet, as it did sometimes, and always +unaccountably....</p> + +<p>The worst had happened at the party. No doubt it was intolerable,—but +not so bad as when (he was then only four) he had tried to kill a boy +for lying about him and was whipped mercilessly by his father,—for +here, in the library, he was sitting before Mr. Gilbert, who was pale +and whose eyes had a deep, inscrutable look. He was a large and powerful +man, and had a genial nature, with force and sternness. The lad had +never seen him looking thus, and so evidently guarding a prisoner, and +the boy felt a strange weight within.</p> + +<p>Whatever had happened must have left a shadow on the assemblage, for, +though faint sounds came through the closed doors, they were somewhat +lacking in the robustness of youth. Ray did not deign an effort to +remember. More than that, he hoped that it never would come back, for it +might be disturbing to his solitudes. Of his attempts to remember the +attack on the boy ten years ago, there had never come any result but the +recollection of a wholly disconnected event,—when he was enveloped in a +swirl of flame and smoke from a fierce grass fire, and had to fight his +way through to life. He did not try to think what his father's purpose +was in holding him a prisoner tonight. Was it to give him a lecture? +Pshaw! The beautiful, peaceful woods would make him forget that +child's-play, and he would steal away to them with Cap this very night, +as soon as all were asleep.</p> + +<p>Thus, motionless and in silence, sat he and his father, seemingly +through an endless, aching time. After a while the guests quietly left. +His sisters omitted their customary good night to their father. All +sounds from the servants ended. Then entered his mother, uncommonly +pale, and in silence looked from her son to her husband. She was small +and dainty, and very, very pretty, the boy reflected. It was a pity that +her bright eyes should be dim tonight and her sweet mouth drawn. She +looked worn and as though she dreaded something.</p> + +<p>"Are you ready?" Mr. Gilbert asked, regarding her fixedly.</p> + +<p>Her lip trembled, but there came a flash from her eyes. "Do you really +mean it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. It must be done."</p> + +<p>"My dear, dear, he's too large for——"</p> + +<p>"He'll never be too large for it so long as he is a boor and coward, +insults our guests, scandalizes us all, shames his sisters, and treats +his parents with open scorn. He won't try to be like other people and +accept his world as he finds it. His inordinate conceit is a disease. It +is eating up his own life and making our lives miserable. We will cure +it."</p> + +<p>He had spoken calmly, but with a low vibration of tone; and as he came +to his feet he looked very tall and terrible. Ray's blood began to rise, +and as he looked about for something undefined he felt the heat and +smelled the smoke of the grass fire of ten years ago.</p> + +<p>He knew he was a coward. That was the shame and the curse of his life. +He did not think it had always been so, but believed it had come about +gradually. At first he had not minded the whippings that other boys gave +him because of his temper and his physical inadequacy, for he had +invited the punishment; but when they all learned that his fighting +spirit had weakened, that they could whip him easily, that they need not +wait for provocation, and that he would never tell, they bullied and +hounded and beat him until he had come to know a craven, sordid fear, +which spread from the boys to the whole terrible world in which the +masculine entity must fight for a place.</p> + +<p>"I am ready," said Mrs. Gilbert, trying to hide a sigh.</p> + +<p>"Come," Mr. Gilbert ordered the boy, looking at him for the first time +in two hours.</p> + +<p>The boy quailed before that look, the most dreadful thing he had ever +seen. It made him numb and sick, and when he rose he staggered; for, +though tall, he was slender and had little strength. The weight on his +chest became a pain and fixed on his throat, to choke and torment him.</p> + +<p>His mother had gone out. He followed his father, and the three went out +into the back yard, the boy bare-headed. The night was sharp and the +moon very bright. All the boy's power of thought was suspended.</p> + +<p>In silence they walked down the terraces of the park-like yard in the +rear. Cap, Ray's dog, his only intimate, came bounding forward for his +young master's unfailing good night, but Mr. Gilbert angrily ordered him +away. The animal, astonished and hurt, slunk away, keeping a watchful +view of the group, and sat down at a distance and gazed in wonder. They +passed through a gate into an orchard, and shut the dog out.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilbert selected an apple tree, because the wood was tougher than +that of a peach. From it he cut two switches a yard long, and carefully +pared the knots, his wife observing without a word or a movement, and +the boy looking away into the distance. When Mr. Gilbert had done, he +ordered his son to prepare.</p> + +<p>The lad numbly, dumbly removed his coat and waistcoat, slipped his +suspenders down, tightened the strap at the back of his trousers, +clasped his hands in front, and bowed his head. The dog, which had crept +to the fence and was peering through the pickets, whined anxiously and +was quivering. When roughly ordered away by Mr. Gilbert, he went upon a +terrace that overlooked the fence, and trembled as he watched. The boy +did not once look toward him. He was struggling with the pain in his +throat.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilbert offered one of the switches to his wife.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how can you!" she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"You must," he firmly said. "I'll relieve you when you are tired."</p> + +<p>The boy's mind suddenly cleared, and he comprehended. A whipping from +his father would be frightful enough,—not for the blows; they were +nothing. The plan was not alone to humiliate him beyond all measure, but +to scourge his soul, ravage the sanctuary of his mother there, rend him +asunder, and cast him into an unthinkable hell of isolation; for she was +the bond that held him to the world, she was the human comfort and +sweetness of his life.</p> + +<p>Since his tenth year his discipline had been solely in her hands, his +father having given him up as worthless, hopeless. She had whipped him +many a time, but not for two years; and he had felt no pain, no shame, +no outrage, no resentment. The case of the teacher was different. Ray +had solemnly sworn, renewing the oath every day, that when he came to +manhood he would beat his teacher to death for whipping him so often and +severely because of his dulness, his apathy, or his rebellion; the +whippings from his mother had only increased his tenderness for her, +and, in some way that he could not understand, his pity also. Perhaps it +was because he vaguely felt that she was impairing something in herself +that was precious to him. Never had she conquered him; never had he +cried out in pain, never pleaded for mercy, never confessed penitence +nor promised reform.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gilbert shut her teeth hard, and, deathly white in the moonlight, +raised the switch. It was poised a moment, and then her arm fell limp to +her side; but the look that her son had seen in his father's eyes held +her and steeled her with a sort of desperate madness, and her arm again +rose.</p> + +<p>A long cry, an anguished wail, almost superhuman in its power to shatter +the silence of the night, and more startling than any human cry could +be, struck disorganizingly through the drama. It may have hastened the +catastrophe. Mr. Gilbert was unnerved for a moment, and in exasperation +picked up a clod and threw it at the offending dog trembling on the +terrace. When he turned again, his son was kneeling beside his +unconscious mother, peering anxiously into her pallid face, and calling +her softly.</p> + +<p>In a stride Mr. Gilbert was upon him. A hand armed with strength and +fury caught up the shirt on the lad's shoulder, raised him, and flung +him away with so great violence that the slender body struck the ground +as a log. Mr. Gilbert tenderly picked up his wife and bore her into the +house.</p> + +<p>The fall had half stunned the boy. As he slowly struggled to a sitting +posture the moon danced fantastically, and some black trees crowning a +near hill bowed and rose, and walked sidewise to and fro. A whine, low, +cautious, packed with sympathy and solicitude, pleaded at the pickets, +but the boy gave it no attention. He sat for a time, rose giddily, +swayed as he dressed himself, and with deliberation walked to the gate. +The dog, whining, trembling, crawled to meet him; but the boy, instead +of caressing him, ordered him quietly but firmly to the kennel. +Obedience was slow, and the animal looked up incredulous, wondering. The +order had to be repeated. Finally the dog obeyed, frequently pausing to +look back, but his master stood inflexible.</p> + +<p>Passing round the house, and without thinking or caring about hat and +overcoat, he noiselessly passed out the front gate, for a moment studied +the big house that had cradled him, bred much of his anguish, and held +all of his love, and firmly stepped out into the road. There was a +gnawing ache somewhere. Assuredly that one blow,—and from <i>her</i>,—could +not have caused it. After finding it in his throat, he was much +relieved, and struck out on secure legs.</p> + +<p>It did not occur to him that he was an outlaw and outcast. He did not +think at all. Hence there was no plan in his going. He did not even +understand that something deeper within him than had ever operated +before had assumed, in the disqualification of his ordinary ruling +powers, an imperious regency, and that it was infinitely greater or +infinitely less than his usual intelligence. He simply went on, thinking +nothing, remembering nothing. The beautiful highway, arched by great +trees, above which rode the moon in keeping pace with him, was a tunnel +under a luminous sea; he half walked, half floated, in the crystal +water, and had no wonder that he breathed it. The houses along the way +were the palaces of lordly gnomes that inhabited the deep.</p> + +<p>Whatever was leading him turned him out of the avenue at last and +drifted him along a winding road that was as beautiful in its less +conventional way. He did not reflect that all of this was familiar, +shamefully familiar. It was the road to his grandmother's but he had not +visited her for a year.</p> + +<p>Her great wisdom and tact had gone to a study of the strange, unhappy +child; she had been kind to him in every cautious, delicate fashion that +she could devise; but he had ceased coming, and avoided her when she +visited his home, and she had never known why. She was a patient woman +and good; she knew prayer, and in her peaceful twilight she walked with +God; yet no revelation had come at her appeals, for the times were not +ready; and the boy went his way alone and silent, forever alone and +silent, and unhappy, unhappy!</p> + +<p>A white picket fence was presently marching with him alongside the +shining road. He did not consciously recognize it, and it brought no +rekindling of an old terror, an old shame; but soon, on the other side +of it, a distance away, there broke on the stillness a challenge that he +remembered, and its tone was contempt. He understood it, and woke with +a start because of a sudden fluff of flame and a whiff of smoke from the +grass fire of ten years ago, and the ache in his throat gave him a +strangling wrench. His head rolled; the moon swung through an arc of +alarming length. That call beyond the fence struck the dominant note of +his life, and it was Fear. Yet it came from a mere animal,—his +grandmother's old buckskin horse, the most docile of creatures.</p> + +<p>Ray had never feared the wild things of the woods. The cry of the +panther in the dead of night is dreadful but it had no terrors for the +boy in the forest solitude. Other fierce pad-footed members of the cat +tribe had come and sniffed him as he lay under the stars, and experience +had taught him to feign sleep, for a suspicion of his wakefulness would +send them bounding away, and he was lonely, always lonely. One night, +roused from slumber, he sleepily put his hand on the shaggy head of a +bear that was curiously rummaging him, and he was sorry that the beast +took alarm and trotted away,—he would have been comfortable to hug. +That was before the dog had come into his life. He could never +understand why he was not afraid of anything whatever—not even of the +terrific lightning and thunder that sometimes flamed and crashed and +bellowed all about him,—except human beings and the forces that they +controlled; and at times he wondered why Cap loved him and the buckskin +horse would kill him from hate if he could.</p> + +<p>Here, then, beyond the picket fence, was the proclamation of his +shame,—coming from a gentle, superannuated horse with no more spirit +than a snail's. By some means, perhaps instinctive,—for all the world, +when it finds out, will hunt down and destroy whatsoever fears it +(although the boy had not reasoned it out thus),—the beast had learned +that the boy was afraid, and had then found an interest in life. Let him +but have a glimpse of Ray, and, ears back, lips drawn from hideous +yellow teeth, and head thrust horribly forward, he would snort, +charge,—and the boy would run abjectly. The horse had never thus +treated another living thing. So the boy had stayed away from his +grandmother's, and she had never suspected, and her love and prayers had +brought no revelation.</p> + +<p>As the fence intervened, the horse knew that a charge would be useless; +but when, with a neat leap the boy nimbly caught his feet on the ground +within the pasture, the buckskin advanced in his minatory way. Ray did +not know why he had leaped the fence, unless the wrench in his throat +had hurled him over or the flame and smoke of the grass fire had driven +him; nor did he know why he went steadily to meet the horse, nor why his +nostrils stretched and his arms strained and his hands clenched, nor why +there was a fierce eagerness in him; a rasping thirst for something +dried his tongue. The horse came on, and the boy, perfectly calm, as +fatally went to meet him. There was no calculation of results, yet the +lad knew that a horse's teeth and hoofs may be deadly. He knew only that +he was not going forward to end all his wretchedness, as, last year, the +shoemaker who drank had done with a shotgun, and young Corson, the +thieving clerk, with poison. It occurred to the boy that he cared +nothing about the teeth and hoofs of any horse, and nothing about what +they might do.</p> + +<p>So ridiculous was the <i>fiasco</i> that he would have laughed had he not +been sorry for the beast; for to see any rampant thing so suddenly +stricken with fear, when there was not the least danger nor any intent +of harm, was pitiful to see. He wished to assure the buckskin that he +was only a boy, a frail boy at that, and not what the animal had +apparently taken him to be,—a spawn of Darkness and Terror. He followed +up the trembling beast, trying to reassure him and to get near and pet +him; but the creature fled wildly at every advance, and when not pursued +stood with head aloft, ears cocked, and nostrils vibrant, quivering in +fear.</p> + +<p>Seeing the uselessness of further pacific effort, the boy sprang over +the fence, went back to the main highway, and by the unseen Hand was led +into the short cut past Mr. Elderby's house, where the greatest terror +of his life—human excepted—had months ago driven him to use the long +way round. He did not know, nor for a moment consider, why he chose the +short cut tonight. He turned into it, walking free and strong.</p> + +<p>Girls had meant nothing in the boy's life. That was because they did not +seem members of his species, but something fragile, mysterious, and +ranking somewhere between flowers and angels. Thus his feeling for them +was composed of a little awe, more reverence, and a sense of great +remoteness. Never had he observed them thoughtfully without reflecting +that they were, in a general way, much like his mother, or at least of +her species; therefore they must be sweet and dainty and gentle and +kind. His only large swellings of the heart had come from his thinking +about them, particularly Grace Elderby, now twelve years old. Nothing +could have been so grand, for instance, as an opportunity to rescue her +single-handed, from wild savages that had her tied to a tree and were +piling fagots about her; then to dance in fiendish glee about her as the +flames rose. He would dash up on a splendid charger, his sword flashing +in the sun; savage heads would roll in the dust, or fall open, cleaved +in twain; there would be wild yells of fright and a wilder flight for +life; he would leap from his horse, speak reassuring words while he +severed her bonds, mount with her in his arms, and fly away, away, away.</p> + +<p>Twice had Grace seen his shame. She had seen him pale, and run when her +father's big, noisy dog had made a flamboyant show of rage, and she had +seen him stand mute and white when Andy Carmichael, older and larger and +much stronger than Ray, grossly insulted him in her presence. The +Elderby dog was the terror that had closed the short cut,—closed it to +Ray alone.</p> + +<p>Thus into the short cut swung Ray, walking strong and free, the ache in +his throat not so painful as before. The dog would be on guard, and the +boy was empty-handed.</p> + +<p>The shadows were deep under the trees, or possibly the dog's hate and +rage blinded him to what the buckskin had seen, or perhaps he was of a +different metal. Near the rear of the premises the big brute came in so +great a fury that he broke through the palings. The ensuing +collision,—for the boy stood his ground,—was so violent that Ray went +down underneath, and an ecstasy thrilled him when the flame swished and +the smoke stung, and he felt something sink into his shoulder and a +stifle of hot, foamy breath in his face.</p> + +<p>It seemed to have been easily and quickly done. True, when he came erect +he was weak and tired, and swayed dizzily, and wondered why. As, without +the least exultation, or even triumph, or even gratification, he looked +down at his work, and saw with surprise how deeply the ground had been +torn up, two men with sticks came running out,—evidently there had been +some noise, despite all his care for silence. One was Mr. Elderby, the +other his coachman. The gentleman stood in astonishment as the boy, +controlling his heavy breathing, stepped into the moonlight and calmly +faced him.</p> + +<p>"Ray Gilbert! What are you doing here, at this time of night?"</p> + +<p>"I was walking in the path. Your dog attacked me."</p> + +<p>"What did you kill him with?"</p> + +<p>"My hands."</p> + +<p>Mr. Elderby stood in wonder as he studied the lad.</p> + +<p>"I'm thankful to God that you are alive. It's a miracle." He noticed +that Ray's clothing was torn nearly to rags. In compassion he laid a +hand on Ray's shoulder, quickly withdrew it, and examined it in the +moonlight. "You are hurt, my son. Come into the house. I'll put you to +bed and send for the doctor and your parents."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir; I have something to do."</p> + +<p>"But you must have attention.—Jake, hitch up the bay to the light +buggy,—quick,—and drive him home."</p> + +<p>"No, sir; but I'm much obliged. I have something to do. Good night." The +shadows enveloped him.</p> + +<p>The short cut led him over a sharp hill and into the road again, and +there he sat on the bank till his strength came back. Then he went on +till he arrived at a gate leading into a private avenue. The ache in his +throat was nearly gone. Passing quietly up the driveway and round to the +rear of the house, he came to a window, which was open at the top, and +sharply tapped on the glass.</p> + +<p>"Who's that?" came a voice.</p> + +<p>"Dress and come out, Andy Carmichael. I'm Ray Gilbert."</p> + +<p>The sash was thrown up and the boy glowered in the opening. "Ray +Gilbert!—you cowardly, sneaking puppy! What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"I want to see you. Dress and come out. Don't wake anybody."</p> + +<p>He spoke quietly, trying to appear his usual self lest this monster, +this overshadowing terror of his life, should see whatever it was that +had frightened the horse and slain the dog. This was the boy who had +beaten him so often and with such merciless, sodden, gluttonous +enjoyment; the boy who, when he did not care to give the beatings +himself—no provocation was ever needed,—would stand threateningly by +and let the smaller boys, even to the little ones with soft, puny fists, +beat the coward as long as they wished, merely for the love of beating +what did not resist; the boy whose lies had brought undeserved whippings +from the teacher; the boy who openly insulted him whenever he pleased, +and, worst of all, had humiliated him before Grace Elderby. It was the +presence of this boy at the party that evening, and the looks that he +gave Ray, and the sly tortures he inflicted, that had sent up the +curtain on the night's drama.</p> + +<p>In wondering surprise Andy studied the bare-headed, ragged, dirty figure +standing in the moonlight; and as crimson looks a muddy brown in such a +light, he mistook the smears on the other's face and the dark splotches +on his clothing. What could the creature want of him at this time of +night and with that extraordinary appearance? Likely Ray had been set +upon and was seeking any refuge. It would be joyous to complete the work +that the others had begun. Andy soon emerged from the house.</p> + +<p>"Come this way," said his mysterious visitant, and perplexed Andy +followed him to the rear of the fowl-house, where the light was clear. +The flame and smoke of the old grass fire were strong in the air.</p> + +<p>Ray halted, and faced him.</p> + +<p>"Take off your coat," he quietly said, removing his own tattered +garment.</p> + +<p>"What for?" with a slight quaver composed of anger—and something else; +for there was a touch of the uncanny here.</p> + +<p>"We are going to fight."</p> + +<p>"Fight, eh! What put that into your fool head?" Under the initial +impulse from the challenge, Andy was all heat and eagerness, and he +bristled and swelled; but though, in some vital ways, human sense is +less acute than brute sense, Andy did feel something of what the +buckskin had felt, something of what had slain the dog, and his heart +thumped with a strange heaviness. "What do you want to fight for? I'd +beat the life out of you."</p> + +<p>It failed of the effect intended, and Andy found his head suddenly +twisted to one side by a slap on the cheek. He stepped back, white with +fury, tossed his coat aside, and hurled himself upon the slender figure +waiting with such unearthly composure.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>Dawn was flooding the east, and still the boy lurched and floundered on +and on, keeping to the road that led into the wilderness. Occasionally +he would stop for a minute's rest and to listen for the baying of +Frazier's bloodhound; and he wondered, in a purely detached and +scientific way, whether he had sufficient strength and acuteness left +for another such grapple. It was merely an engaging speculation, and was +complicated with his determination to perform another task before his +work was done. It would nearly break his heart to be stopped now. Likely +the dog would not attack him, but merely hold him at bay until the +pursuers came to his summons; but if the dog would not attack, then the +boy must. Would strength or even life be left for the last and most +important of all the tasks to which the Hand was leading him?—for there +was a good distance yet to be covered, and work to be done at the end of +it. He was thankful that the ache had entirely left his throat and that +a strange warmth had kindled in his breast.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center n smcap"><a name="dawn" id="dawn"></a><img src="images/image212.jpg" alt="header" width="40%"/><br /> +"Dawn was flooding the east, and still the boy<br /> +lurched and floundered on and on."<br /><br /> +From a Painting by Gordon Ross</p> +<p> </p> + +<p>Perhaps they had not really meant what they said about setting Frazier's +bloodhound to run him down. The remark had come from the yardman, not +Mr. +Carmichael himself, who had appeared too stunned to think of anything +but his son. If they had wished to kill the outlaw, or take him and send +him to jail, why had they not seized and bound him instead of staring at +him so queerly, and then the yardman foolishly saying, as Ray staggered +away and they picked up the limp figure, that they would get Frazier's +bloodhound and set him on the trail? They were two strong men against a +mere boy, who was so exhausted that only with a mighty effort could he +stand. It was Andy's final despairing cry that had waked them.</p> + +<p>Without either triumph or regret the boy struggled on. The broadening of +day made him partly aware of the savage presence that he made and of the +likelihood that traffic might open on the road at any time. Some of his +clothing was gone, and he had bound the remaining strips and rags about +him as best he could. He did not know about the aspect of his face and +hair, but he realized that should any one encounter him in the road he +might be forced to do something distasteful, and that the urgent task +ahead might be interrupted.</p> + +<p>A horseman and two market wagons passed at intervals, but the boy was +hidden at the roadside. So he reeled on and on, and so he came at last +to the great pine. There he turned out and crawled as much as walked +through the trees and undergrowth to the summit of a low ridge, where he +felt the sunshine fall on his half-naked back. It was so luxurious that +he paused in the full glare of it, and slowly turned, as one very cold +before a warming fire, and reveled in it. With every moment he felt it +pouring into him, tingling softly as it ran. It was odd with what +cheerful industry it hunted out the coldest places in him and kindled +snug little fires under them. Most of all, it gave attention to the warm +place that had already started in the center, and that one woke to a +wonderful glow. Thus refreshed, he descended the slope on the farther +side and came to a morass threaded by a friendly stream. At the edge of +the bog he halted and looked keenly about. It had been two years since +his last visit to this spot, and, though his memory of the woods was +excellent, he now found himself dull and his vision bad. Ordinarily he +would have found at once what he was seeking. Up and down along the +margin he stumbled, straining his dim eyes, crawling sometimes and using +groping hands in the search. Surely no one else could have come upon +this remote spot, found the treasure, and taken it away!</p> + +<p>At last! It had seemed to him a very long time; but all else was +submerged in the joy of the first triumph, the first elation, that the +lad had felt in many, many a day. Every shadow that had lain on his +conscience vanished, every shame that had cursed his years was swept +away, all bitterness took flight, and something fine and sweet raced +through him deliciously.</p> + +<p>There was no waste of precious time in hunting for something with which +to dig. Then, too, the glorious sun had mounted, and was pouring its +flood of light and warmth on his work and him. Like the tines of a +digging-fork, his fingers sank into the ground.</p> + +<p>The precious treasure, hugged gently, reverently, with a fierce sense of +protection, was balm to every hurt. With it thus clasped, the boy +laboriously made the ascent of the ridge on his return, and paused on +the summit. There was something strange in the distance with which the +descending slope to the road stretched so far, so bewilderingly far. He +contemplated it, and wondered if he could compass it in a lifetime. The +impulse to go on—for this last task was only half done—overcame the +check from the illusion, and he started down. His knees developed a +foolish way of suddenly flexing and seating him hard on the ground. At +first it was annoying, but when it happened the second time the +absurdity of it, and the ridiculous suddenness of the surprise that it +caused, made the boy laugh aloud. It astonished him to hear himself +laugh, for that was very unusual, and he wondered. But he rose, +staggered on, and found himself chuckling inside,—a most astonishing +thing! He could not imagine why he was doing it. When he dropped the +third time his voice rang in so loud and merry a laugh that two blue +jays came and scolded him terrifically, and he laughed at them till his +tears ran. He was so absurdly happy that he feared he would hug his +treasure too hard.</p> + +<p>If only his mother were with him, that she might see how funny it all +was, and laugh and be happy with him, and then walk with him hand in +hand through the beautiful woods, while he showed her all the wonderful +things that he knew! But no; his sisters and his father must be with +them,—and Grace, and Andy, too, and the teacher and dear old +grandmother. What a glorious time they would have!</p> + +<p>The boy started, for a sweet, coaxing smother had suddenly fallen on +him. He fought it away and rose with great difficulty and in some alarm +lest he should not reach the road. On he lurched, clinging to the bushes +as he swayed, trying not to laugh, for he had an idea that he was very +crass and silly. He saw the road, only a rod away, and suddenly +reflected that he was not presentable. Though staying till night would +delay the completion of his task, there was no help for it, and he was +content, and laughed because he was. And he knew that he really needed +rest; for suppose his legs should practise those grotesque +eccentricities in the road, and somebody should see! He sat down, +carefully guarding his treasure, to wait in happy patience. He would not +sleep, and so lose something of his conscious peace, something of +thinking about what was going to happen at the end. No, he <i>must</i> not +sleep.</p> + +<p>The frantically joyous barking of a dog standing over him—not at all +like the deep baying of Frazier's bloodhound,—woke the boy, and he +tried to raise his head, but it fell back like lead. He laughed drowsily +in quiet happiness, as he feebly patted the devoted head.</p> + +<p>"Dear old Cap," he said. "You came, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>Messengers from Elderby's and Carmichael's had brought strange news to +the boy's parents. In alarm they had started out in the surrey, taking +Cap, in the sure faith that he would find their son. They had seen that +Andy was recovering,—he had been much more frightened than hurt. It was +they whose crashing through the bushes the boy heard after Cap had +announced his find. They halted and paled when they saw the torn, +bruised, helpless figure smiling at them from the ground, and so full +of loving gladness merely to see them that there was no room for +surprise at their being there. The mother was quicker than the father; +she ran forward and fell on her knees beside her son.</p> + +<p>"My boy!" she cried in a choke.</p> + +<p>He took her hand and smiled into her face. In all her life she had never +seen a smile so sweet, so happy. With his free hand he lifted his +treasure.</p> + +<p>"Mother," radiantly, "here it is!"</p> + +<p>"What, my poor dear?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you remember? I told you two years ago that I'd found it, and you +said you'd be very glad if I'd bring it to you when I came this way +again."</p> + +<p>She opened the parcel, wrapped with so fond care in leaves and damp +moss.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's the rare and beautiful fern, and you were taking it to me! +Bless your dear heart!" and, much to his surprise, she began to cry.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="A_LOST_STORY" id="A_LOST_STORY"></a><a href="#toc">A LOST STORY</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">FRANK NORRIS</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>The Century Magazine</i> of July, 1903 by permission</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/a.jpg" alt="A" /></span>T NINE o'clock that morning Rosella arrived in her little office on the +third floor of the great publishing house of Conant & Company, and +putting up her veil without removing her hat, addressed herself to her +day's work.</p> + +<p>She went through her meager and unimportant mail, wrote a few replies, +and then turned to the pile of volunteer manuscripts which it was her +duty to read and report upon.</p> + +<p>For Rosella was Conant's "reader," and so well was she acquainted with +the needs of the house, so thorough was she in her work, and so great +was the reliance upon her judgment, that she was the only one employed. +Manuscripts that she "passed up" went direct to Conant himself, while +the great army of the "declined" had no second chance. For the +"unavailables" her word was final.</p> + +<p>From the first—which was when her initial literary venture, a little +book of short tales of Sicily and the Sicilians, was published by the +house—her relations with the Conants had been intimate. Conant believed +in her, and for the sake of the time when her books could be considered +safe investments, was willing to lose a few dollars during the time of +her apprenticeship. For the tales had enjoyed only a fleeting <i>succès +d'estime</i>. Her style was, like her temperament, delicately constructed +and of extreme refinement, not the style to appeal to the masses. It was +"searched," a little <i>précieuse</i>, and the tales themselves were +diaphanous enough, polished little <i>contes</i>, the points subtle, the +action turning upon minute psychological distinctions.</p> + +<p>Yet she had worked desperately hard upon their composition. She was of +those very few who sincerely cannot write unless the mood be propitious; +and her state of mind, the condition of her emotions, was very apt to +influence her work for good or ill, as the case might be.</p> + +<p>But a <i>succès d'estime</i> fills no purses, and favorable reviews in the +literary periodicals are not "negotiable paper." Rosella could not yet +live wholly by her pen, and thought herself fortunate when the house +offered her the position of reader.</p> + +<p>This arrival of hers was no doubt to be hastened, if not actually +assured, by the publication of her first novel, "Patroclus," upon which +she was at this time at work. The evening before, she had read the draft +of the story to Trevor, and even now, as she cut the string of the first +manuscript of the pile, she was thinking over what Trevor had said of +it, and smiling as she thought.</p> + +<p>It was through Conant that Rosella had met the great novelist and +critic, and it was because of Conant that Trevor had read Rosella's +first little book. He had taken an interest at once, and had found +occasion to say to her that she had it in her to make a niche for +herself in American letters.</p> + +<p>He was a man old enough to be her grandfather, and Rosella often came to +see him in his study, to advise with him as to doubtful points in her +stories or as to ideas for those as yet unwritten. To her his opinion +was absolutely final. This old gentleman, this elderly man of letters, +who had seen the rise and fall of a dozen schools, was above the +influence of fads, and he whose books were among the classics even +before his death was infallible in his judgments of the work of the +younger writers. All the stages of their evolution were known to +him—all their mistakes, all their successes. He understood; and a story +by one of them, a poem, a novel, that bore the stamp of his approval, +was "sterling." Work that he declared a failure was such in very +earnest, and might as well be consigned as speedily as possible to the +grate or the waste-basket.</p> + +<p>When, therefore, he had permitted himself to be even enthusiastic over +"Patroclus," Rosella had been elated beyond the power of expression, and +had returned home with blazing cheeks and shining eyes, to lie awake +half the night thinking of her story, planning, perfecting, considering +and reconsidering.</p> + +<p>Like her short stories, the tale was of extreme delicacy in both +sentiment and design. It was a little fanciful, a little elaborate, but +of an ephemeral poetry. It was all "atmosphere," and its success +depended upon the minutest precision of phrasing and the nicest harmony +between idea and word. There was much in mere effect of words; and more +important than mere plot was the feeling produced by the balancing of +phrases and the cadence of sentence and paragraph.</p> + +<p>Only a young woman of Rosella's complexity, of her extreme +sensitiveness, could have conceived "Patroclus," nor could she herself +hope to complete it successfully at any other period of her life. Any +earlier she would have been too immature to adapt herself to its +demands; any later she would have lost the spontaneity, the <i>jeunesse</i>, +and the freshness which were to contribute to its greatest charm.</p> + +<p>The tale itself was simple. Instead of a plot, a complication, it built +itself around a central idea, and it was the originality of this idea, +this motif, that had impressed Trevor so strongly. Indeed, Rosella's +draft could convey no more than that. Her treatment was all to follow. +But here she was sure of herself. The style would come naturally as she +worked.</p> + +<p>She was ambitious, and in her craving to succeed, to be recognized and +accepted, was all that passionate eagerness that only the artist knows. +So far success had been denied her; but now at last she seemed to see +light. Her "Patroclus" would make her claims good. Everything depended +upon that.</p> + +<p>She had thought over this whole situation while she removed the +wrappings from the first manuscript of the pile upon her desk. Even then +her fingers itched for the pen, and the sentences and phrases of the +opening defined themselves clearly in her mind. But that was not to be +the immediate work. The unlovely bread-and-butter business pressed upon +her. With a long breath she put the vision from her and turned her +attention to the task at hand.</p> + +<p>After her custom, she went through the pile, glancing at the titles and +first lines of each manuscript, and putting it aside in the desk corner +to be considered in detail later on.</p> + +<p>She almost knew in advance that of the thirty-odd volunteers of that +day's batch not one would prove available. The manuscripts were tagged +and numbered in the business office before they came to her, and the +number of the first she picked up that morning was 1120, and this since +the first of the year. Of the eleven hundred she had accepted only +three. Of these three, two had failed entirely after publication; the +third had barely paid expenses. What a record! How hopeless it seemed! +Yet the strugglers persisted. Did it not seem as if No. 1120, Mrs. Allen +Bowen of Bentonville, South Dakota—did it not seem as if she could know +that the great American public has no interest in, no use for, "Thoughts +on the Higher Life," a series of articles written for the county +paper—foolish little articles revamped from Ruskin and Matthew Arnold?</p> + +<p>And 1121—what was this? The initial lines ran: "'Oh, damn everything!' +exclaimed Percival Holcombe, as he dropped languidly into a deep-seated +leather chair by the club window which commanded a view of the noisy +street crowded with fashion and frivolity, wherein the afternoon's sun, +freed from its enthralling mists, which all day long had jealously +obscured his beams, was gloating o'er the panels of the carriages of +noblemen who were returning from race-track and park, and the towhead of +the little sweeper who plied his humble trade which earned his scanty +supper that he ate miles away from that gay quarter wherein Percival +Holcombe, who——" Rosella paused for sheer breath. This sort did not +need to be read. It was declined already. She picked up the next. It was +in an underwear-box of green pasteboard.</p> + +<p>"The staid old town of Salem," it read, "was all astir one bright and +sunny morning in the year 1604." Rosella groaned. "Another!" she said. +"Now," she continued, speaking to herself and shutting her eyes—"now +about the next page the 'portly burgess' will address the heroine as +'Mistress,' and will say, 'An' whither away so early?'" She turned over +to verify. She was wrong. The portly burgess had said: "Good morrow, +Mistress Priscilla. An' where away so gaily bedizened?" She sighed as +she put the manuscript away. "Why, and, oh, why <i>will</i> they do it!" she +murmured.</p> + +<p>The next one, 1123, was a story "Compiled from the Memoirs of One Perkin +Althorpe, Esq., Sometime Field-Coronet in His Majesty's Troop of Horse," +and was sown thick with objurgation—"Ods-wounds!" "Body o' me!" "A +murrain on thee!" "By my halidom!" and all the rest of the sweepings and +tailings of Scott and the third-rate romanticists.</p> + +<p>"Declined," said Rosella, firmly, tossing it aside. She turned to 1124:</p> + +<p>"About three o'clock of a roseate day in early spring two fashionables +of the softer sex, elegantly arrayed, might have been observed +sauntering languidly down Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>"'Are you going to Mrs. Van Billion's musicale tonight?' inquired the +older of the two, a tall and striking demi-brunette, turning to her +companion.</p> + +<p>"'No, indeed,' replied the person thus addressed, a blonde of exquisite +coloring. 'No, indeed. The only music one hears there is the chink of +silver dollars. Ha! ha! ha! ha!'"</p> + +<p>Rosella winced as if in actual physical anguish. "And the author calls +it a 'social satire'!" she exclaimed. "How can she! How can she!"</p> + +<p>She turned to the next. It was written in script that was a model of +neatness, margined, correctly punctuated, and addressed, "Harold +Vickers," with the town and State. Its title was "The Last Dryad," and +the poetry of the phrase stuck in her mind. She read the first lines, +then the first page, then two.</p> + +<p>"Come," said Rosella, "there is something in this." At once she was in a +little valley in Boeotia in the Arcadian day. It was evening. There was +no wind. Somewhere a temple, opalescent in the sunset, suggested rather +than defined itself. A landscape developed such as Turner in a quiet +mood might have evolved, and with it a feeling of fantasy, of +remoteness, of pure, true classicism. A note of pipes was in the air, +sheep bleated, and Daphne, knee-deep in the grass, surging an answer to +the pipes, went down to meet her shepherd.</p> + +<p>Rosella breathed a great sigh of relief. Here at last was a +possibility—a new writer with a new, sane view of his world and his +work. A new poet, in fine. She consulted the name and address +given—Harold Vickers, Ash Fork, Arizona. There was something in that +Harold; perhaps education and good people. But the Vickers told her +nothing. And where was Ash Fork, Arizona; and why and how had "The Last +Dryad" been written there, of all places the green world round? How came +the inspiration for that classic <i>paysage</i>, such as Ingres would have +loved, from the sage-brush, and cactus? "Well," she told herself, "Moore +wrote 'Lalla Rookh' in a back room in London, among the chimney-pots and +soot. Maybe the proportion is inverse. But, Mr. Harold Vickers of Ash +Fork, Arizona, your little book is, to say the least, well worth its +ink."</p> + +<p>She went through the other manuscripts as quickly as was consistent with +fairness, and declined them all. Then settling herself comfortably in +her chair, she plunged, with the delight of an explorer venturing upon +new ground, into the pages of "The Last Dryad."</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>Four hours later she came, as it were, to herself, to find that she sat +lax in her place, with open, upturned palms, and eyes vacantly fixed +upon the opposite wall. "The Last Dryad," read to the final word, was +tumbled in a heap upon the floor. It was past her luncheon hour. Her +cheeks flamed; her hands were cold and moist; and her heart beat thick +and slow, clogged, as it were, by its own heaviness.</p> + +<p>But the lapse of time was naught to her, nor the fever that throbbed in +her head. Her world, like a temple of glass, had come down dashing about +her. The future, which had beckoned her onward,—a fairy in the path +wherein her feet were set,—was gone, and at the goal of her ambition +and striving she saw suddenly a stranger stand, plucking down the golden +apples that she so long and passionately had desired.</p> + +<p>For "The Last Dryad" was her own, her very, very own and cherished +"Patroclus."</p> + +<p>That the other author had taken the story from a different view-point, +that his treatment varied, that the approach was his own, that the +wording was his own, produced not the least change upon the final +result. The idea, the motif, was identical in each; identical in every +particular, identical in effect, in suggestion. The two tales were one. +That was the fact, the unshakable fact, the block of granite that a +malicious fortune had flung athwart her little pavilion of glass.</p> + +<p>At first she jumped to the conclusion of chicanery. At first there +seemed no other explanation. "He stole it," she cried, rousing +vehemently from her inertia—"mine—mine. He stole my story."</p> + +<p>But common sense prevailed in the end. No, there was no possible chance +for theft. She had not spoken of "Patroclus" to any one but Trevor. Her +manuscript draft had not once left her hands. No; it was a coincidence, +nothing more—one of those fateful coincidences with which the +scientific and literary worlds are crowded. And he, this unknown +Vickers, this haphazard genius of Ash Fork, Arizona, had the prior +claim. Her "Patroclus" must remain unwritten. The sob caught and +clutched at her throat at last.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she cried in a half-whisper—"oh, my chance, my hopes, my foolish +little hopes! And now <i>this</i>! To have it all come to nothing—when I was +so proud, so buoyant—and Mr. Trevor and all! Oh, could anything be more +cruel!"</p> + +<p>And then, of all moments, <i>ex machina</i>, Harold Vickers's card was handed +in.</p> + +<p>She stared at it an instant, through tears, amazed and incredulous. +Surely some one was playing a monstrous joke upon her today. Soon she +would come upon the strings and false bottoms and wigs and masks of the +game. But the office boy's contemplation of her distress was real. +Something must be done. The whole machine of things could not +indefinitely hang thus suspended, inert, waiting her pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she exclaimed all at once. "Very well; show him in;" and she had +no more than gathered up the manuscript of "The Last Dryad" from the +floor when its author entered the room.</p> + +<p>He was very young,—certainly not more than twenty-three,—tall, rather +poorly dressed, an invalid, beyond doubt, and the cough and the flush on +the high cheek-bone spelled the name of the disease. The pepper-and-salt +suit, the shoe-string cravat, and the broad felt hat were frankly +Arizona. And he was diffident, constrained, sitting uncomfortably on the +chair as a mark of respect, smiling continually, and, as he talked, +throwing in her name at almost every phrase:</p> + +<p>"No, Miss. Beltis; yes, Miss. Beltis; quite right, Miss. Beltis."</p> + +<p>His embarrassment helped her to her own composure, and by the time she +came to question him as to his book and the reasons that brought him +from Ash Fork to New York, she had herself in hand.</p> + +<p>"I have received an unimportant government appointment in the Fisheries +Department," he explained, "and as I was in New York for the week I +thought I might—not that I wished to seem to hurry you, Miss. +Beltis—but I thought I might ask if you had come to—to my little book +yet."</p> + +<p>In five minutes of time Rosella knew just where Harold Vickers was to be +placed, to what type he belonged. He was the young man of great talent +who, so far from being discovered by the outside world, had not even +discovered himself. He would be in two minds as yet about his calling in +life, whether it was to be the hatching of fish or the writing of "Last +Dryads." No one had yet taken him in hand, had so much as spoken a word +to him. If she told him now that his book was a ridiculous failure, he +would no doubt say—and believe—that she was quite right, that he had +felt as much himself. If she told him his book was a little masterpiece, +he would be just as certain to tell himself, and with equal sincerity, +that he had known it from the first.</p> + +<p>He had offered his manuscript nowhere else as yet. He was as new as an +overnight daisy, and as destructible in Rosella's hands.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said at length, "I have read your manuscript." She paused a +moment, then: "But I am not quite ready to pass upon it yet."</p> + +<p>He was voluble in his protestations.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is all right," she interrupted. "I can come to the second +reading in a day or two. I could send you word by the end of the week."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Miss. Beltis." He paused awkwardly, smiling in deprecatory +fashion. "Do you—from what you have seen of it—read of it—do you—how +does it strike you? As good enough to publish—or fit for the +waste-basket?"</p> + +<p>Ah, why had this situation leaped upon her thus unawares, and all +unprepared! Why had she not been allowed time, opportunity, to fortify +herself!</p> + +<p>What she said now would mean so much. Best err, then, on the safe side; +and which side was that? Her words seemed to come of themselves, and she +almost physically felt herself withdraw from the responsibility of what +this other material Rosella Beltis was saying.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said the other Rosella. "I should not care to say—so +soon. You see—there are so many manuscripts. I generally trust to the +first impression on the second reading." She did not even hear his +answer, but she said, when he had done speaking, that even in case of an +unfavorable report there were, of course, other publishers.</p> + +<p>But he answered that the judgment of such a house as the Conants would +suffice for him. Somehow he could not peddle his story about New York. +If the Conants would not take his work, nobody would.</p> + +<p>And that was the last remark of importance he made. During the few +remaining moments of his visit they spoke of unessentials, and before +she was aware, he had gone away, leaving with her a memorandum of his +address at the time.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>She did not sleep that night. When she left the office she brought "The +Last Dryad" home with her, and till far into the night she read it and +re-read it, comparing it and contrasting it with "Patroclus," searching +diligently if perhaps there were not some minute loophole of evasion, +some devious passage through which she might escape. But amid the +shattered panes of her glass pavilion the block of stone persisted, +inert, immovable. The stone could not be raised, the little edifice +could not be rebuilt.</p> + +<p>Then at last, inevitably, the temptation came—came and grew and shut +about her and gripped her close. She began to temporize, to advance +excuses. Was not her story the better one? Granted that the idea was the +same, was not the treatment, the presentation, more effective? Should +not the fittest survive? Was it not right that the public should have +the better version? Suppose "Patroclus" had been written by a third +person, and she had been called upon to choose between it and "The Last +Dryad," would she not have taken "Patroclus" and rejected the other? Ah, +but "Patroclus" was not yet written! Well, that was true. But the draft +of it was; the idea of it had been conceived eight months ago. Perhaps +she had thought of her story before Vickers had thought of his. Perhaps? +No; it was very probable; there was no doubt of it, in fact. That was +the important thing: the conception of the idea, not the execution. And +if this was true, her claim was prior.</p> + +<p>But what would Conant say of such reasoning, and Trevor—would they +approve? Would they agree?</p> + +<p>"Yes, they would," she cried the instant the thought occurred to her. +"Yes, they would, they would, they would; I know they would. I am sure +of it; sure of it."</p> + +<p>But she knew they would not. The idea of right persisted and persisted. +Rosella was on the rack, and slowly, inevitably, resistlessly the +temptation grew and gathered, and snared her feet and her hands, and, +fold on fold, lapped around her like a veil.</p> + +<p>A great and feminine desire to shift the responsibility began to possess +her mind.</p> + +<p>"I cannot help it," she cried. "I am not to blame. It is all very well +to preach, but how would—any one do in my case? It is not my fault."</p> + +<p>And all at once, without knowing how or why, she found that she had +written, sealed, stamped, and addressed a note to Harold Vickers +declining his story.</p> + +<p>But this was a long way from actually rejecting "The Last +Dryad"—rejecting it in favor of "Patroclus." She had only written the +note, so she told herself, just to see how the words would look. It was +merely an impulse; would come to nothing, of course. Let us put it +aside, that note, and seriously consider this trying situation.</p> + +<p>Somehow it seemed less trying now; somehow the fact of her distress +seemed less poignant. There was a way out of it—stop. No; do not look +at the note there on the table. There was a way out, no doubt, but not +that one; no, of course not that one. Rosella laughed a little. How +easily some one else, less scrupulous, would solve this problem! Well, +she could solve it, too, and keep her scruples as well; but not tonight. +Now she was worn out. Tomorrow it would look different to her.</p> + +<p>She went to bed and tossed wide-eyed and wakeful till morning, then +rose, and after breakfast prepared to go to the office as usual. The +manuscript of "The Last Dryad" lay on her table, and while she was +wrapping it up her eye fell upon the note to Harold Vickers.</p> + +<p>"Why," she murmured, with a little grimace of astonishment—"why, how is +this? I thought I burned that last night. How <i>could</i> I have +forgotten!"</p> + +<p>She could have burned it then. The fire was crackling in the grate; she +had but to toss it in. But she preferred to delay.</p> + +<p>"I will drop it in some ash-can or down some sewer on the way to the +office," she said to herself. She slipped it into her muff and hurried +away. But on the way to the cable-car no ash-can presented itself. True, +she discovered the opening of a sewer on the corner where she took her +car. But a milkman and a police officer stood near at hand in +conversation, occasionally glancing at her, and no doubt they would have +thought it strange to see this well-dressed young woman furtively +dropping a sealed letter into a sewer-vent.</p> + +<p>She held it awkwardly in her hand all of her way down-town, and still +carried it there when she had descended from her car and took her way up +the cross-street toward Conant's.</p> + +<p>She suddenly remembered that she had other letters to mail that morning. +For two days the weekly epistles that she wrote home to her mother and +younger sister had been overlooked in her pocket. She found a mail-box +on the corner by the Conant building and crossed over to it, holding her +mother's and sister's letters in one hand and the note to Vickers in the +other.</p> + +<p>Carefully scanning the addresses, to make sure she did not confuse the +letters, she dropped in her home correspondence, then stood there a +moment irresolute.</p> + +<p>Irresolute as to what, she could not say. Her decision had been taken in +the matter of "The Last Dryad." She would accept it, as it deserved. +Whether she was still to write "Patroclus" was a matter to be +considered later. Well, she was glad she had settled it all. If she had +not come to this conclusion she might have been, at that very instant, +dropping the letter to Harold Vickers into the box. She would have +stood, thus, facing the box, have raised the cast-iron flap,—this with +one hand,—and with the other have thrust the note into the slide—thus.</p> + +<p>Her fingers closed hard upon the letter at the very last instant—ah, +not too late. But suppose she had, but for one second, opened her thumb +and forefinger and—what? What would come of it?</p> + +<p>And there, with the letter yet on the edge of the drop she called up +again the entire situation, the identity of the stories, the +jeopardizing—no, the wrecking—of her future career by this +chance-thrown barrier in the way. Why hesitate, why procrastinate? Her +thoughts came to her in a whirl. If she acted quickly now,—took the +leap with shut eyes, reckless of result,—she could truly be sorry then, +truly acknowledge what was right, believe that Vickers had the prior +claim without the hard necessity of acting up to her convictions. At +least, this harrowing indecision would be over with.</p> + +<p>"Indecision?" What was this she was saying? Had she not this moment told +herself that she was resolved—resolved to accept "The Last Dryad"? +Resolved to accept it? Was that true? Had she done so? Had she not made +up her mind long ago to decline it—decline it with full knowledge that +its author would destroy it once the manuscript should be returned?</p> + +<p>These thoughts had whisked through her mind with immeasurable rapidity. +The letter still rested half in, half out of the drop. She still held it +there.</p> + +<p>By now Rosella knew if she let it fall she would do so deliberately, +with full knowledge of what she was about. She could not afterward +excuse herself by saying that she had been confused, excited, acting +upon an unreasoned impulse. No; it would be deliberate, deliberate, +deliberate. She would have to live up to that decision, whatever it was, +for many months to come, perhaps for years. Perhaps,—who could +say?—perhaps it might affect her character permanently. In a crisis +little forces are important, disproportionately so. And then it was, and +thus it was, that Rosella took her resolve. She raised the iron flap +once more, and saying aloud and with a ring of defiance in her voice: +"Deliberately, deliberately; I don't care," loosed her hold upon the +letter. She heard it fall with a soft rustling impact upon the +accumulated mail-matter in the bottom of the box.</p> + +<p>A week later she received her letter back with a stamped legend across +its face informing her with dreadful terseness that the party to whom +the letter was addressed was deceased. She divined a blunder, but for +all that, and with conflicting emotions, sought confirmation in the +daily press. There, at the very end of the column, stood the notice:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="n"><span class="smcap">Vickers</span>. At New York, on Sunday, November 12, Harold Anderson +Vickers, in the twenty-third year of his age. Arizona papers please +copy. Notice of funeral hereafter.</p></div> + +<p>Three days later she began to write "Patroclus."</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>Rosella stood upon the door-step of Trevor's house, closing her umbrella +and shaking the water from the folds of her mackintosh. It was between +eight and nine in the evening, and since morning a fine rain had fallen +steadily. But no stress of weather could have kept Rosella at home that +evening. A week previous she had sent to Trevor the type-written copy of +the completed "Patroclus," and tonight she was to call for the +manuscript and listen to his suggestions and advice.</p> + +<p>She had triumphed in the end—triumphed over what, she had not always +cared to inquire. But once the pen in her hand, once "Patroclus" begun, +and the absorption of her mind, her imagination, her every faculty, in +the composition of the story, had not permitted her to think of or to +remember anything else.</p> + +<p>And she saw that her work was good. She had tested it by every method, +held it up to her judgment in all positions and from all sides, and in +her mind, so far as she could see, and she was a harsh critic for her +own work, it stood the tests. Not the least of her joys was the pleasure +that she knew Trevor would take in her success. She could foresee just +the expression of his face when he would speak, could forecast just the +tones of the voice, the twinkle of the kindly eyes behind the glasses.</p> + +<p>When she entered the study, she found Trevor himself, as she had +expected, waiting for her in slippers and worn velvet jacket, pipe in +hand, and silk skullcap awry upon the silver-white hair. He extended an +inky hand, and still holding it and talking, led her to an easy-chair +near the hearth.</p> + +<p>Even through the perturbation of her mind Rosella could not but +wonder—for the hundredth time—at the apparent discrepancy between the +great novelist and the nature of his books. These latter were, each and +all of them, wonders of artistic composition, compared with the hordes +of latter-day pictures. They were the aristocrats of their kind, full of +reserved force, unimpeachable in dignity, stately even, at times +veritably austere.</p> + +<p>And Trevor himself was a short, rotund man, rubicund as to face, +bourgeois as to clothes and surroundings (the bisque statuette of a +fisher-boy obtruded the vulgarity of its gilding and tinting from the +mantelpiece), jovial in manner, indulging even in slang. One might +easily have set him down as a retired groceryman—wholesale perhaps, but +none the less a groceryman. Yet touch him upon the subject of his +profession, and the bonhomie lapsed away from him at once. Then he +became serious. Literature was not a thing to be trifled with.</p> + +<p>Thus it was tonight. For five minutes Trevor filled the room with the +roaring of his own laughter and the echoes of his own vociferous voice. +He was telling a story—a funny story, about what Rosella, with her +thoughts on "Patroclus," could not for the life of her have said, and +she must needs listen in patience and with perfunctory merriment while +the narrative was conducted to its close with all the accompaniment of +stamped feet and slapped knees.</p> + +<p>"'Why, becoth, mithtah,' said that nigger. 'Dat dawg ain' good fo' +nothin' ailse; so I jes rickon he 'th boun' to be a coon dawg;'" and the +author of "Snow in April" pounded the arm of his chair and roared till +the gas-fixtures vibrated.</p> + +<p>Then at last, taking advantage of a lull in the talk, Rosella, unable +to contain her patience longer, found breath to remark:</p> + +<p>"And 'Patroclus'—my—my little book?"</p> + +<p>"Ah—hum, yes. 'Patroclus,' your story. I've read it."</p> + +<p>At once another man was before her, or rather the writer—the +novelist—<i>in</i> the man. Something of the dignity of his literary style +immediately seemed to invest him with a new character. He fell quiet, +grave, not a little abstracted, and Rosella felt her heart sink. Her +little book (never had it seemed so insignificant, so presumptuous as +now) had been on trial before a relentless tribunal, had indeed +undergone the ordeal of fire. But the verdict, the verdict! Quietly, but +with cold hands clasped tight together, she listened while the greatest +novelist of America passed judgment upon her effort.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I've read it," continued Trevor. "Read it carefully—carefully. +You have worked hard upon it. I can see that. You have put your whole +soul into it, put all of yourself into it. The narrative is all there, +and I have nothing but good words to say to you about the construction, +the mere mechanics of it. But——"</p> + +<p>Would he never go on? What was this? What did that "But" mean? What else +but disaster could it mean? Rosella shut her teeth.</p> + +<p>"But, to speak frankly, my dear girl, there is something lacking. Oh, +the idea, the motif—that——" he held up a hand. "That is as intact as +when you read me the draft. The central theme, the approach, the +grouping of the characters, the dialogue—all good—all good. The thing +that is lacking I find very hard to define. But the <i>mood</i> of the +story, shall we say?—the mood of the story is——" he stopped, frowning +in perplexity, hesitating. The great master of words for once found +himself at a loss for expression. "The mood is somehow truculent, when +it should be as suave, as quiet, as the very river you describe. Don't +you see? Can't you understand what I mean? In this 'Patroclus' the +atmosphere, the little, delicate, subtle sentiment, is +everything—everything. What was the mere story? Nothing without the +proper treatment. And it was just in this fine, intimate relationship +between theme and treatment that the success of the book was to be +looked for. I thought I could be sure of you there. I thought that you +of all people could work out that motif adequately. But"—he waved a +hand over the manuscript that lay at her elbow—"this—it is not the +thing. This is a poor criticism, you will say, merely a marshaling of +empty phrases, abstractions. Well, that may be; I repeat, it is very +hard for me to define just what there is of failure in your 'Patroclus.' +But it is empty, dry, hard, barren. Am I cruel to speak so frankly? If I +were less frank, my dear girl, I would be less just, less kind. You have +told merely the story, have narrated episodes in their sequence of time, +and where the episodes have stopped there you have ended the book. The +whole animus that should have put the life into it is gone, or, if it is +not gone, it is so perverted that it is incorrigible. To <i>my</i> mind the +book is a failure."</p> + +<p>Rosella did not answer when Trevor ceased speaking, and there was a long +silence. Trevor looked at her anxiously. He had hated to hurt her. +Rosella gazed vaguely at the fire. Then at last the tears filled her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, very, very sorry," said Trevor, kindly. "But to have told +you anything but the truth would have done you a wrong—and, then, no +earnest work is altogether wasted. Even though 'Patroclus' is—not what +we expected of it, your effort over it will help you in something else. +You did work hard at it. I saw that. You must have put your whole soul +into it."</p> + +<p>"That," said Rosella, speaking half to herself—"that was just the +trouble."</p> + +<p>But Trevor did not understand.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="HANTU" id="HANTU"></a><a href="#toc">HANTU</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">HENRY MILNER RIDEOUT</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>The Atlantic Monthly</i> of May, 1906 by permission</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/t.jpg" alt="T" /></span>HE SCHOONER <i>Fulmar</i> lay in a cove on the coast of Banda. Her sails, +half hoisted, dripped still from an equatorial shower, but, aloft, were +already steaming in the afternoon glare. Dr. Forsythe, captain and +owner, lay curled round his teacup on the cabin roof, watching the +horizon thoughtfully, with eyes like points of glass set in the puckered +bronze of his face. The "Seventh Officer," his only white companion, +watched him respectfully. All the Malays were asleep, stretched prone or +supine under the forward awning. Only Wing Kat stirred in the smother of +his galley below, rattling tin dishes, and repeating, in endless +falsetto sing-song, the Hankow ditty which begins,—</p> + +<p class="center">"'Yaou-yaou!' remarked the grasshoppers."</p> + +<p>Ashore, the coolies on the nutmeg plantations had already brought out +their mace to dry, and the baskets lay in vermilion patches on the +sun-smitten green, like gouts of arterial blood. White vapors round the +mountain peaks rose tortuously toward the blue; while seaward, rain +still filled the air as with black sand drifting down aslant, through +gaps in which we could descry far off a steel-bright strip of fair +weather that joined sea and sky, cutting under a fairy island so that it +seemed suspended in the air.</p> + +<p>"That's a pretty bit of land," said the doctor lazily. "'<i>Jam medio +apparet fluctu nemorosa Zacynthos</i>'. It might be, eh?—Humph!—Virgil +and Shakespeare are the only ones who sometimes make poetry endurable. +All the others are just little swollen Egos."</p> + +<p>This was an unusual excursion, and he quickly returned to practical +matters.</p> + +<p>"There's a better anchorage over there," he drawled, waving the milk-tin +toward Zacynthos. "And less danger of our being caught than here. But no +use; we've got to humor the crew, of course. When they say '<i>pulo +burrantu</i>,' that settles it. Haunted islands—ghosts—fatal to +discipline. I used to have cruises spoiled by that sort of thing. We +must stay here and chance being found."</p> + +<p>He shot a stream of Java sugar into the tea, and, staring at the +sleepers, rubbed his shaven head thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, 'superstition,' all very easy to say," he muttered, half to +himself. "But who <i>knows</i>, eh? Must be something in it, at times."</p> + +<p>His mood this afternoon was new and surprising. Nor was it likely to +occur often in such a man. He had brought the <i>Fulmar</i> round the south +of Celebes, making for Ceram; but as the Dutch had forbidden him to +travel in the interior, saying that the natives were too dangerous just +then; and as Sidin, the mate, had sighted the Dutch tricolor flying +above drab hulls that came nosing southward from Amboina way, we had +dodged behind the Bandas till nightfall. The crew laughed at the <i>babi +blanda</i>—Dutch pigs; but every man of them would have fled ashore had +they known that among the hampers and bundled spears in our hold lay the +dried head of a little girl, a human sacrifice from Engano. If we got +into Ceram (and got out again), the doctor would reduce the whole affair +to a few tables of anthropological measurements, a few more hampers of +birds, beasts, and native rubbish in the hold, and a score of paragraphs +couched in the evaporated, millimetric terms of science. There would be +a few duplicates for Raffles, some tin-lined cases, including the +clotted head of the little girl, for the British Museum; the total +upshot would attract much less public notice than the invention of a new +"part" for a motor car; and the august structure of science, like a +coral tree, would increase by another atom. In the meantime, we lay +anchored, avoiding ironclads and ghosts.</p> + +<p>Dinner we ate below, with seaward port-holes blinded, and sweat dripping +from our chins. Then we lay on the cabin roof again, in breech-clouts, +waiting for a breeze, and showing no light except the red coals of two +Burmah cheroots.</p> + +<p>For long spaces we said nothing. Trilling of crickets ashore, sleepy +cooing of nutmeg-pigeons, chatter of monkeys, hiccough of tree lizards, +were as nothing in the immense, starlit silence of the night, heavily +sweet with cassia and mace. Forward, the Malays murmured now and then, +in sentences of monotonous cadence.</p> + +<p>"No, you can't blame them," said the captain abruptly, with decision. +"Considering the unholy strangeness of the world we live in——" He +puffed twice, the palm of his hand glowing. "Things you can't explain," +he continued vaguely. "Now this—I thought of it today, speaking of +<i>hantu</i>. Perhaps you can explain it, being a youngster without theories. +The point is, of what follows, how much, if any, was a dream? Where were +the partition lines between sleep and waking,—between what we call +Certainty, and—the other thing? Or else, by a freak of nature, might a +man live so long—Nonsense!—Never mind; here are the facts."</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>Eleven years ago, I had the <i>Fulmar</i> a ten months' cruise out of +Singapore, and was finally coming down along Celebes, intending to go +over to Batavia. We anchored on just such a day as this has been, off a +little old river-mouth, so badly silted that she had to lie well out. A +chief in a <i>campong</i> half a day inland had promised to send some +specimens down that evening,—armor, harps, stone Priapuses, and birds +of paradise. The men were to come overland, and would have no boats. So +I went ashore with three or four Malays, and the Old Boy's time we had +poking in and out over the silt to find fairway, even for the gig. At +last we could make round toward a little clearing in the bamboos, with a +big canary tree in the middle. All was going well, when suddenly the +mate grunted, pointing dead ahead. That man Sidin has the most +magnificent eyes: we were steering straight into a dazzling glare. I +couldn't see anything, neither could the crew, for some time.</p> + +<p>"<i>Tuggur</i>!" cried the mate. He was getting nervous. Then all of a +sudden—"<i>Brenti</i>!"</p> + +<p>The crew stopped like a shot. Then they saw, too, and began to back +water and turn, all pulling different ways and yelling: "<i>Prau hantu!... +sampar</i>! <i>...Sakit lepra! Kolera!... hantu!</i>"</p> + +<p>As we swung, I saw what it was,—a little carved prau like a child's toy +boat, perhaps four feet long, with red fiber sails and red and gilt +flags from stem to stern. It was rocking there in our swell, innocently, +but the crew were pulling for the schooner like crazy men.</p> + +<p>I was griffin enough at the time, but I knew what it meant, of +course,—it was an enchanted boat, that the priests in some +village—perhaps clear over in New Guinea—had charmed the cholera or +the plague on board of. Same idea as the Hebrew scapegoat.</p> + +<p>"<i>Brenti</i>!" I shouted. The Malays stopped rowing, but let her run. +Nothing would have tempted them within oar's-length of that prau.</p> + +<p>"See here, Sidin," I protested, "I go ashore to meet the <i>kapala's</i> +men."</p> + +<p>"We do not go," the fellow said. "If you go, Tuan, you die: the priest +has laid the cholera on board that prau. It has come to this shore. Do +not go, Tuan."</p> + +<p>"She hasn't touched the land yet," I said.</p> + +<p>This seemed to have effect.</p> + +<p>"Row me round to that point and land me," I ordered. "<i>Hantu</i> does not +come to white men. You go out to the ship; when I have met the +soldier-messengers, row back, and take me on board with the gifts."</p> + +<p>The mate persuaded them, and they landed me on the point, half a mile +away, with a box of cheroots, and a roll of matting to take my nap on. +I walked round to the clearing, and spread my mat under the canary tree, +close to the shore. All that blessed afternoon I waited, and smoked, and +killed a snake, and made notes in a pocket Virgil, and slept, and smoked +again; but no sign of the bearers from the <i>campong</i>. I made signals to +the schooner,—she was too far out to hail,—but the crew took no +notice. It was plain they meant to wait and see whether the <i>hantu</i> prau +went out with the ebb or not; and as it was then flood, and dusk, they +couldn't see before morning. So I picked some bananas and chicos, and +made a dinner of them; then I lighted a fire under the tree, to smoke +and read Virgil by,—in fact, spent the evening over my notes. That +editor was a <i>pukkah</i> ass! It must have been pretty late before I +stretched out on my matting.</p> + +<p>I was a long time going to sleep,—if I went to sleep at all. I lay and +watched the firelight and shadows in the <i>lianas</i>, the bats fluttering +in and out across my patch of stars, and an ape that stole down from +time to time and peered at me, sticking his blue face out from among the +creepers. At one time a shower fell in the clearing, but only pattered +on my ceiling of broad leaves.</p> + +<p>After a period of drowsiness, something moved and glittered on the +water, close to the bank; and there bobbed the ghost prau, the gilt and +vermilion flags shining in the firelight. She had come clear in on the +flood,—a piece of luck. I got up, cut a withe of bamboo, and made her +fast to a root. Then I fed the fire, lay down again, and watched her +back and fill on her tether,—all clear and ruddy in the flame, even +the carvings, and the little wooden figures of wizards on her deck. And +while I looked, I grew drowsier and drowsier; my eyes would close, then +half open, and there would be the <i>hantu</i> sails and the fire for +company, growing more and more indistinct.</p> + +<p>So much for Certainty; now begins the Other. Did I fall asleep at all? +If so, was my first waking a dream-waking, and the real one only when +the thing was gone? I'm not an imaginative man; my mind, at home, +usually worked with some precision; but this,—there seems to be, you +might say, a blur, a—film over my mental retina. You see, I'm not a +psychologist, and therefore can't use the big, foggy terms of man's +conceit to explain what he never can explain,—himself, and Life.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>The captain tossed his cheroot overboard, and was silent for a space.</p> + +<p>"The psychologists forget Æsop's frog story," he said at last. "Little +swollen Egos, again."</p> + +<p>Then his voice flowed on, slowly, in the dark.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>I ask you just to believe this much: that I for my part feel sure +(except sometimes by daylight) that I was not more than half asleep when +a footfall seemed to come in the path, and waked me entirely. It didn't +sound,—only seemed to come. I believe, then, that I woke, roused up on +my elbow, and stared over at the opening among the bamboos where the +path came into the clearing. Some one moved down the bank, and drew +slowly forward to the edge of the firelight. A strange, whispering, +uncertain kind of voice said something,—something in Dutch.</p> + +<p>I didn't catch the words, and it spoke again:—</p> + +<p>"What night of the month is this night?"</p> + +<p>If awake, I was just enough so to think this a natural question to be +asked first off, out here in the wilds.</p> + +<p>"It's the 6th," I answered in Dutch. "Come down to the fire, Mynheer."</p> + +<p>You know how bleary and sightless your eyes are for a moment, waking, +after the glare of these days. The figure seemed to come a little +nearer, but I could only see that it was a man dressed in black. Even +that didn't seem odd.</p> + +<p>"Of what month?" the stranger said. The voice was what the French call +"veiled."</p> + +<p>"June," I answered.</p> + +<p>"And what year?" he asked.</p> + +<p>I told him—or It.</p> + +<p>"He is very late," said the voice, like a sigh. "He should have sent +long ago."</p> + +<p>Only at this point did the whole thing begin to seem queer. As evidence +that I must have been awake, I recalled afterwards that my arm had been +made numb by the pressure of my head upon it while lying down, and now +began to tingle.</p> + +<p>"It is very late," the voice repeated. "Perhaps too late——"</p> + +<p>The fire settled, flared up fresh, and lighted the man's face dimly,—a +long, pale face with gray mustache and pointed beard. He was all in +black, so that his outline was lost in darkness; but I saw that round +his neck was a short white ruff, and that heavy leather boots hung in +folds, cavalier-fashion, from his knees. He wavered there in the dark, +against the flicker of the bamboo shadows, like a picture by that Dutch +fellow—What's-his-name-again—a very dim, shaky, misty Rembrandt.</p> + +<p>"And you, Mynheer," he went on, in the same toneless voice, "from where +do you come to this shore?"</p> + +<p>"From Singapore," I managed to reply.</p> + +<p>"From Singapura," he murmured. "And so white men live there now?—<i>Ja, +ja</i>, time has passed."</p> + +<p>Up till now I may have only been startled, but this set me in a blue +funk. It struck me all at once that this shaky old whisper of a voice +was not speaking the Dutch of nowadays. I never before knew the depths, +the essence, of that uncertainty which we call fear. In the silence, I +thought a drum was beating,—it was the pulse in my ears. The fire close +by was suddenly cold.</p> + +<p>"And now you go whither?" it said.</p> + +<p>"To Batavia," I must have answered, for it went on:—</p> + +<p>"Then you may do a great service to me and to another. Go to Jacatra in +Batavia, and ask for Pieter Erberveld. Hendrik van der Have tells him to +cease—before it is too late, before the thing becomes accursed. Tell +him this. You will have done well, and I—shall sleep again. Give him +the message——"</p> + +<p>The voice did not stop, so much as fade away unfinished. And the man, +the appearance, the eyes, moved away further into the dark, dissolving, +retreating. A shock like waking came over me—a rush of clear +consciousness——</p> + +<p>Humph! Yes, been too long away from home; for I know (mind you, <i>know</i>) +that I saw the white of that ruff, the shadowy sweep of a cloak, as +something turned its back and moved up the path under the pointed arch +of bamboos, and was gone slowly in the blackness. I'm as sure of this as +I am that the fire gave no heat. But whether the time of it all had been +seconds or hours, I can't tell you.</p> + +<p>What? Yes, naturally. I jumped and ran up the path after it. Nothing +there but starlight. I must have gone on for half a mile. Nothing: only +ahead of me, along the path, the monkeys would chatter and break into an +uproar, and then stop short—every treetop silent, as they do when a +python comes along. I went back to the clearing, sat down on the mat, +stayed there by clinching my will power, so to speak,—and watched +myself for other symptoms, till morning. None came. The fire, when I +heaped it, was as hot as any could be. By dawn I had persuaded myself +that it was a dream. No footprints in the path, though I mentioned a +shower before.</p> + +<p>At sunrise, the <i>kapala's</i> men came down the path, little chaps in black +mediæval armor made of petroleum tins, and coolies carrying piculs of +stuff that I wanted. So I was busy,—but managed to dismast the <i>hantu</i> +prau and wrap it up in matting, so that it went aboard with the plunder.</p> + +<p>Yet this other thing bothered me so that I held the schooner over, and +made pretexts to stay ashore two more nights. Nothing happened. Then I +called myself a grandmother, and sailed for Batavia.</p> + +<p>Two nights later, a very singular thing happened. The mate—this one +with the sharp eyes—is a quiet chap; seldom speaks to me except on +business. He was standing aft that evening, and suddenly, without any +preliminaries, said:</p> + +<p>"Tuan was not alone the other night."</p> + +<p>"What's that, Sidin?" I spoke sharply, for it made me feel quite angry +and upset, of a sudden. He laughed a little, softly.</p> + +<p>"I saw that the fire was a cold fire," he said. That was all he would +say, and we've never referred to it again.</p> + +<p>You may guess the rest, if you know your history of Java. I didn't then, +and didn't even know Batavia,—had been ashore often, but only for a +<i>toelatingskaart</i> and some good Dutch chow. Well, one afternoon, I was +loafing down a street, and suddenly noticed that the sign-board said, +"Jacatra-weg." The word made me jump, and brought the whole affair on +Celebes back like a shot,—and not as a dream. It became a live +question; I determined to treat it as one, and settle it.</p> + +<p>I stopped a fat Dutchman who was paddling down the middle of the street +in his pyjamas, smoking a cigar.</p> + +<p>"Pardon, Mynheer," I said. "Does a man live here in Jacatra-weg named +Erberveld?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Nej</i>," he shook his big shaved head. "<i>Nej</i>, Mynheer, I do not know."</p> + +<p>"Pieter Erberveld," I suggested.</p> + +<p>The man broke into a horse-laugh.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ja, ja</i>," he said, and laughed still. "I did not think of him. <i>Ja</i>, +on this way, opposite the timber yard, you will find his house." And he +went off, bowing and grinning hugely.</p> + +<p>The nature of the joke appeared later, but I wasn't inclined to laugh. +You've seen the place. No? Right opposite a timber yard in a cocoanut +grove: it was a heavy, whitewashed wall, as high as a man, and perhaps +two perches long. Where the gate should have been, a big tablet was set +in, and over that, on a spike, a skull, grinning through a coat of +cement. The tablet ran in eighteenth-century Dutch, about like this:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="n"><span class="smcap">By Reason of the Detestable Memory of the Convicted Traitor, Pieter +Erberveld, No One Shall Be Permitted to Build in Wood or Stone or +to Plant Anything upon This Ground, from Now till Judgment Day. +Batavia, April 14, Anno 1772</span>.</p></div> + +<p>You'll find the story in any book: the chap was a half-caste Guy Fawkes +who conspired to deliver Batavia to the King of Bantam, was caught, +tried, and torn asunder by horses. I nosed about and went through a hole +in a side wall: nothing in the compound but green mould, dried stalks, +dead leaves, and blighted banana trees. The inside of the gate was +blocked with five to eight feet of cement. The Dutch hate solidly.</p> + +<p>But Hendrik van der Have? No, I never found the name in any of the +books. So there you are. Well? Can a man dream of a thing before he +knows that thing, or——</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>The captain's voice, which had flowed on in slow and dispassionate +soliloquy, became half audible, and ceased. As we gave ear to the +silence, we became aware that a cool stir in the darkness was growing +into a breeze. After a time, the thin crowing of game-cocks in distant +villages, the first twitter of birds among the highest branches, told us +that night had turned to morning. A soft patter of bare feet came along +the deck, a shadow stood above us, and the low voice of the mate said:</p> + +<p>"<i>Ada kapal api disitu, Tuan</i>—<i>saiah kirah</i>—<i>ada kapal prrang</i>."</p> + +<p>"Gunboat, eh?" Captain Forsythe was on his feet, and speaking briskly. +"<i>Bai, tarek jangcar</i>. Breeze comes just in time."</p> + +<p>We peered seaward from the rail; far out, two pale lights, between a red +coal and a green, shone against the long, glimmering strip of dawn.</p> + +<p>"Heading this way, but there's plenty of time," the captain said +cheerfully. "Take the wheel a minute, youngster—that's it,—keep her +in,—they can't see us against shore where it's still night."</p> + +<p>As the schooner swung slowly under way, his voice rose, gay as a +boy's:—</p> + +<p>"Come on, you rice-fed admirals!" He made an improper gesture, his +profile and outspread fingers showing in the glow-worm light of the +binnacle. "If they follow us through by the Verdronken Rozengain, we'll +show them one piece 'e navigation. Can do, eh? These old iron-clad junks +are something a man knows how to deal with."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="MISS_JUNO" id="MISS_JUNO"></a><a href="#toc">MISS JUNO</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">CHARLES WARREN STODDARD</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright</i>, 1903, by A. M. Robertson Reprinted from <span class="smcap">For the Pleasure of +His Company</span></p> +<p> </p> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/t.jpg" alt="T" /></span>HERE was an episode in the life of Paul Clitheroe that may possibly +throw some little light upon the mystery of his taking off; and in +connection with this matter it is perhaps worth detailing.</p> + +<p>One morning Paul found a drop-letter in the mail which greeted him +daily. It ran as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dear Old Boy</span>:</p> + +<p>Don't forget the reception tomorrow. Some one will be here whom I +wish you to know.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Most affectionately,</span></p> + +<p class="smcap"><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Harry English</span>.</p></div> + +<p>The "tomorrow" referred to was the very day on which Paul received the +sweet reminder. The reception of the message somewhat disturbed his +customary routine. To be sure, he glanced through the morning journal as +usual; repaired to the Greek chop-house with the dingy green walls, the +smoked ceiling, the glass partition that separated the guests from a +kitchen lined with shining copper pans, where a cook in a white paper +cap wafted himself about in clouds of vapor, lit by occasional flashes +of light and ever curling flames, like a soul expiating its sins in a +prescribed but savory purgatory. He sat in his chosen seat, ignored his +neighbors with his customary nonchalance, and returned to his room, as +if nothing were about to happen. But he accomplished little, for he felt +that the day was not wholly his; so slight a cause seemed to change the +whole current of his life from hour to hour.</p> + +<p>In due season Paul entered a street car which ran to the extreme limit +of San Francisco. Harry English lived not far from the terminus, and to +the cozy home of this most genial and hospitable gentleman the youth +wended his way. The house stood upon the steep slope of a hill; the +parlor was upon a level with the street,—a basement dining-room below +it,—but the rear of the house was quite in the air and all of the rear +windows commanded a magnificent view of the North Bay with its islands +and the opposite mountainous shore.</p> + +<p>"Infinite riches in a little room," was the expression which came +involuntarily to Paul's lips the first time he crossed the threshold of +Thespian Lodge. He might have said it of the Lodge any day in the week; +the atmosphere was always balmy and soothing; one could sit there +without talking or caring to talk; even without realizing that one was +not talking and not being talked to; the silence was never ominous; it +was a wholesome and restful home, where Paul was ever welcome and +whither he often fled for refreshment.</p> + +<p>The walls of the whole house were crowded with pictures, framed +photographs and autographs, chiefly of theatrical celebrities; both +"Harry," as the world familiarly called him, and his wife, were members +of the dramatic profession and in their time had played many parts in +almost as many lands and latitudes.</p> + +<p>There was one chamber in this delightful home devoted exclusively to the +pleasures of entomology, and there the head of the house passed most of +the hours which he was free to spend apart from the duties of his +profession. He was a man of inexhaustible resources, consummate energy, +and unflagging industry, yet one who was never in the least hurried or +flurried; and he was Paul's truest and most judicious friend.</p> + +<p>The small parlor at the Englishes was nearly filled with guests when +Paul Clitheroe arrived upon the scene. These guests were not sitting +against the wall talking at each other; the room looked as if it were +set for a scene in a modern society comedy. In the bay window, a bower +of verdure, an extremely slender and diminutive lady was discoursing +eloquently with the superabundant gesticulation of the successful +society amateur; she was dilating upon the latest production of a minor +poet whose bubble reputation was at that moment resplendent with local +rainbows. Her chief listener was a languid beauty of literary +aspirations, who, in a striking pose, was fit audience for the little +lady as she frothed over with delightful, if not contagious, enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>Mrs. English, who had been a famous belle—no one who knew her now would +for a moment question the fact—devoted herself to the entertainment of +a group of silent people, people of the sort that are not only +colorless, but seem to dissipate the color in their immediate vicinity. +The world is full of such; they spring up, unaccountably, in locations +where they appear to the least advantage. Many a clever person who would +delight to adorn a circle he longs to enter, and where he would be +hailed with joy, through modesty, hesitates to enter it; while others, +who are of no avail in any wise whatever, walk bravely in and find +themselves secure through a quiet system of polite insistence. Among the +latter, the kind of people to be merely tolerated, we find, also, the +large majority.</p> + +<p>Two children remarkably self-possessed seized upon Paul the moment he +entered the room: a beautiful lad as gentle and as graceful as a girl, +and his tiny sister, who bore herself with the dignity of a little lady +of Lilliput. He was happy with them, quite as happy as if they were as +old and experienced as their elders and as well entertained by them, +likewise. He never in his life made the mistake that is, alas, made by +most parents and guardians, of treating children as if they were little +simpletons who can be easily deceived. How often they look with scorn +upon their elders who are playing the hypocrite to eyes which are, for +the most part, singularly critical! Having paid his respects to those +present—he was known to all—Paul was led a willing captive into the +chamber where Harry English and a brother professional, an eccentric +comedian, who apparently never uttered a line which he had not learned +out of a play-book, were examining with genuine enthusiasm certain cases +of brilliantly tinted butterflies.</p> + +<p>The children were quite at their ease in this house, and no wonder; +California children are born philosophers; to them the marvels of the +somewhat celebrated entomological collection were quite familiar; again +and again they had studied the peculiarities of the most rare and +beautiful specimens of insect life under the loving tutelage of their +friend, who had spent his life and a small fortune in gathering together +his treasures, and they were even able to explain in the prettiest +fashion the origin and use of the many curious objects that were +distributed about the rooms.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Mme. Lillian, the dramatic one, had left her bower in the bay +window and was flitting to and fro in nervous delight; she had much to +say and it was always worth listening to. With available opportunities +she would have long since become famous and probably a leader of her +sex; but it was her fate to coach those of meaner capacities who were +ultimately to win fame and fortune while she toiled on, in genteel +poverty, to the end of her weary days.</p> + +<p>No two women could be more unlike than this many-summered butterfly, as +she hovered among her friends, and a certain comedy queen who was posing +and making a picture of herself; the latter was regarded by the +society-privates, who haunted with fearful delight the receptions at +Thespian Lodge, with the awe that inspired so many inexperienced people +who look upon members of the dramatic profession as creatures of another +and not a better world, and considerably lower than the angels.</p> + +<p>Two hours passed swiftly by; nothing ever jarred upon the guests in this +house; the perfect suavity of the host and hostess forbade anything like +antagonism among their friends; and though such dissimilar elements +might never again harmonize, they were tranquil for the time at least.</p> + +<p>The adieus were being said in the chamber of entomology, which was +somewhat overcrowded and faintly impregnated with the odor of <i>corrosive +sublimate</i>. From the windows overlooking the bay there was visible the +expanse of purple water and the tawny, sunburnt hills beyond, while +pale-blue misty mountains marked the horizon with an undulating outline. +A ship under full sail—a glorious and inspiring sight—was bearing down +before the stiff westerly breeze.</p> + +<p>Mme. Lillian made an apt quotation which terminated with a Delsartean +gesture and a rising inflection that seemed to exact something from +somebody; the comedienne struck one of her property attitudes, so +irresistibly comic that every one applauded, and Mme. Lillian laughed +herself to tears; then they all drifted toward the door. As mankind in +general has much of the sheep in him, one guest having got as far as the +threshold, the others followed; Paul was left alone with the Englishes +and those clever youngsters, whose coachman, accustomed to waiting +indefinitely at the Lodge, was dutifully dozing on the box seat. The +children began to romp immediately upon the departure of the last guest, +and during the riotous half-hour that succeeded, there was a fresh +arrival. The door-bell rang; Mrs. English, who was close at hand, turned +to answer it and at once bubbled over with unaffected delight. Harry, +still having his defunct legions in solemn review, recognized a cheery, +un-American voice, and cried, "There she is at last!" as he hastened to +meet the newcomer.</p> + +<p>Paul was called to the parlor where a young lady of the ultra-blonde +type stood with a faultlessly gloved hand in the hand of each of her +friends; she was radiant with life and health. Of all the young ladies +Paul could at that moment remember having seen, she was the most +exquisitely clad; the folds of her gown fell about her form like the +drapery of a statue; he was fascinated from the first moment of their +meeting. He noticed that nothing about her was ever disarranged; neither +was there anything superfluous or artificial, in manner or dress. She +was in his opinion an entirely artistic creation. She met him with a +perfectly frank smile, as if she were an old friend suddenly discovering +herself to him, and when Harry English had placed the hand of this +delightful person in one of Paul's she at once withdrew the other, which +Mrs. English fondly held, and struck it in a hearty half-boyish manner +upon their clasped hands, saying, "Awfully glad to see you, Paul!" and +she evidently meant it.</p> + +<p>This was Miss. Juno, an American girl bred in Europe, now, after years +of absence, passing a season in her native land. Her parents, who had +taken a country home in one of the California valleys, found in their +only child all that was desirable in life. This was not to be wondered +at; it may be said of her in the theatrical parlance that she "filled +the stage." When Miss. Juno dawned upon the scene the children grew +grave, and, after a little delay, having taken formal leave of the +company, they entered their carriage and were rapidly driven homeward.</p> + +<p>If Paul and Miss. Juno had been formed for one another and were now, at +the right moment and under the most favorable auspices, brought +together for the first time, they could not have mated more naturally. +If Miss. Juno had been a young man, instead of a very charming woman, +she would of course have been Paul's chum. If Paul had been a young +woman—some of his friends thought he had narrowly escaped it and did +not hesitate to say so—he would instinctively have become her +confidante. As it was, they promptly entered into a sympathetic +friendship which seemed to have been without beginning and was +apparently to be without end.</p> + +<p>They began to talk of the same things at the same moment, often uttering +the very same words and then turned to one another with little shouts of +unembarrassed laughter. They agreed upon all points, and aroused each +other to a ridiculous pitch of enthusiasm over nothing in particular.</p> + +<p>Harry English beamed; there was evidently nothing wanted to complete his +happiness. Mrs. English, her eyes fairly dancing with delight, could +only exclaim at intervals, "Bless the boy!" or, "What a pair of +children!" then fondly pass her arm about the waist of Miss. Juno—which +was not waspish in girth—or rest her hand upon Paul's shoulder with a +show of maternal affection peculiarly grateful to him. It was with +difficulty the half-dazed young fellow could keep apart from Miss. Juno. +If he found she had wandered into the next room, while he was engaged +for a moment, he followed at his earliest convenience, and when their +eyes met they smiled responsively without knowing why, and indeed not +caring in the least to know.</p> + +<p>They were as ingenuous as two children in their liking for one another; +their trust in each other would have done credit to the Babes in the +Wood. What Paul realized, without any preliminary analysis of his mind +or heart, was that he wanted to be near her, very near her; and that he +was miserable when this was not the case. If she was out of his sight +for a moment the virtue seemed to have gone from him and he fell into +the pathetic melancholy which he enjoyed in the days when he wrote a +great deal of indifferent verse, and was burdened with the conviction +that his mission in life was to make rhymes without end.</p> + +<p>In those days, he had acquired the habit of pitying himself. The +emotional middle-aged woman is apt to encourage the romantic young man +in pitying himself; it is a grewsome habit, and stands sturdily in the +way of all manly effort. Paul had outgrown it to a degree, but there is +nothing easier in life than a relapse—perhaps nothing so natural, yet +often so unexpected.</p> + +<p>Too soon the friends who had driven Miss. Juno to Thespian Lodge and +passed on—being unacquainted with the Englishes—called to carry her +away with them. She was shortly—in a day or two in fact—to rejoin her +parents, and she did not hesitate to invite Paul to pay them a visit. +This he assured her he would do with pleasure, and secretly vowed that +nothing on earth should prevent him. They shook hands cordially at +parting, and were still smiling their baby smiles in each other's faces +when they did it. Paul leaned against the door-jamb, while the genial +Harry and his wife followed his new-found friend to the carriage, where +they were duly presented to its occupants—said occupants promising to +place Thespian Lodge upon their list. As the carriage whirled away, +Miss. Juno waved that exquisitely gloved hand from the window and Paul's +heart beat high; somehow he felt as if he had never been quite so happy. +And this going away struck him as being a rather cruel piece of +business. To tell the whole truth, he couldn't understand why she should +go at all.</p> + +<p>He felt it more and more, as he sat at dinner with his old friends, the +Englishes, and ate with less relish than common the delicious Yorkshire +pudding and drank the musty ale. He felt it as he accompanied his +friends to the theater, where he sat with Mrs. English, while she +watched with pride the husband whose impersonations she was never weary +of witnessing; but Paul seemed to see him without recognizing him, and +even the familiar voice sounded unfamiliar, or like a voice in a dream. +He felt it more and more when good Mrs. English gave him a nudge toward +the end of the evening and called him "a stupid," half in sport and half +in earnest; and when he had delivered that excellent woman into the care +of her liege lord and had seen them securely packed into the horse-car +that was to drag them tediously homeward in company with a great +multitude of suffocating fellow-sufferers, he felt it; and all the way +out the dark street and up the hill that ran, or seemed to run, into +outer darkness—where his home was—he felt as if he had never been the +man he was until now, and that it was all for <i>her</i> sake and through +<i>her</i> influence that this sudden and unexpected transformation had come +to pass. And it seemed to him that if he were not to see her again, +very soon, his life would be rendered valueless; and that only to see +her were worth all the honor and glory that he had ever aspired to in +his wildest dreams; and that to be near her always and to feel that he +were much—nay, everything—to her, as before God he felt that at that +moment she was to him, would make his life one long Elysium, and to +death would add a thousand stings.</p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>Saadi had no hand in it, yet all Persia could not outdo it. The whole +valley ran to roses. They covered the earth; they fell from lofty +trellises in fragrant cataracts; they played over the rustic arbors like +fountains of color and perfume; they clambered to the cottage roof and +scattered their bright petals in showers upon the grass. They were of +every tint and texture; of high and low degree, modest or haughty as the +case might be—but roses all of them, and such roses as California alone +can boast. And some were fat or <i>passé</i>, and more's the pity, but all +were fragrant, and the name of that sweet vale was Santa Rosa.</p> + +<p>Paul was in the garden with Miss. Juno. He had followed her thither with +what speed he dared. She had expected him; there was not breathing-space +for conventionality between these two. In one part of the garden sat an +artist at his easel; by his side a lady somewhat his senior, but of the +type of face and figure that never really grows old, or looks it. She +was embroidering flowers from nature, tinting them to the life, and +rivaling her companion in artistic effects. These were the parents of +Miss. Juno—or rather not quite that. Her mother had been twice married; +first, a marriage of convenience darkened the earlier years of her life; +Miss. Juno was the only reward for an age of domestic misery. A +clergyman joined these parties—God had nothing to do with the compact; +it would seem that he seldom has. A separation very naturally and very +properly followed in the course of time; a young child was the only +possible excuse for the delay of the divorce. Thus are the sins of the +fathers visited upon the grandchildren. Then came a marriage of love. +The artist who having found his ideal had never known a moment's +weariness, save when he was parted from her side. Their union was +perfect; God had joined them. The stepfather to Miss. Juno had always +been like a big brother to her—even as her mother had always seemed +like an elder sister.</p> + +<p>Oh, what a trio was that, my countrymen, where liberty, fraternity and +equality joined hands without howling about it and making themselves a +nuisance in the nostrils of their neighbors!</p> + +<p>Miss. Juno stood in a rose-arbor and pointed to the artists at their +work.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see anything like that, Paul?"</p> + +<p>"Like what?"</p> + +<p>"Like those sweet simpletons yonder. They have for years been quite +oblivious of the world about them. Thrones might topple, empires rise +and fall, it would matter nothing to them so long as their garden +bloomed, and the birds nested and sung, and he sold a picture once in an +age that the larder might not go bare."</p> + +<p>"I've seen something like it, Miss. Juno. I've seen fellows who never +bothered themselves about the affairs of others,—who, in short, minded +their own business strictly—and they got credit for being selfish."</p> + +<p>"Were they happy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in their way. Probably their way wasn't my way, and their kind of +happiness would bore me to death. You know happiness really can't be +passed around, like bon-bons or sherbet, for every one to taste. I hate +bon-bons: do you like them?"</p> + +<p>"That depends upon the quality and flavor—and—perhaps somewhat upon +who offers them. I never buy bon-bons for my private and personal +pleasure. Do any of you fellows really care for bon-bons?"</p> + +<p>"That depends upon the kind of happiness we are in quest of; I mean the +quality and flavor of the girl we are going to give them to."</p> + +<p>"Have girls a flavor?"</p> + +<p>"Some of them have—perhaps most of them haven't; neither have they form +nor feature, nor tint nor texture, nor anything that appeals to a fellow +of taste and sentiment."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry for these girls of yours——"</p> + +<p>"You needn't be sorry for the girls; they are not my girls, and not one +of them ever will be mine if I can help it——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed!"</p> + +<p>"They are nothing to me, and I'm nothing to them; but they are +just—they are just the formless sort of thing that a formless sort of +fellow always marries; they help to fill up the world, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they help to fill a world that is overfull already. Poor Mama and +Eugene don't know how full it is. When Gene wants to sell a picture and +can't, he thinks it's a desert island."</p> + +<p>"Probably they could live on a desert island and be perfectly happy and +content," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"Of course they could; the only trouble would be that unless some one +called them at the proper hours they'd forget to eat—and some day +they'd be found dead locked in their last embrace."</p> + +<p>"How jolly!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, very jolly for very young lovers; they are usually such fools!"</p> + +<p>"And yet, I believe I'd like to be a fool for love's sake, Miss. Juno."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Paul, you are one for your own,—at least I'll think so, if you +work yourself into this silly vein!"</p> + +<p>Paul was silent and thoughtful. After a pause she continued.</p> + +<p>"The trouble with you is, you fancy yourself in love with every new girl +you meet—at least with the latest one, if she is at all out of the +ordinary line."</p> + +<p>"The trouble with me is that I don't keep on loving the same girl long +enough to come to the happy climax—if the climax <i>is</i> to be a happy +one; of course it doesn't follow that it is to be anything of the sort. +I've been brought up in the bosom of too many families to believe in the +lasting quality of love. Yet they are happy, you say, those two gentle +people perpetuating spring on canvas and cambric. See, there is a small +cloud of butterflies hovering about them—one of them is panting in +fairy-like ecstasy on the poppy that decorates your Mama's hat!"</p> + +<p>Paul rolled a cigarette and offered it to Miss. Juno, in a mild spirit +of bravado. To his delight she accepted it, as if it were the most +natural thing in the world for a girl to do. He rolled another and they +sat down together in the arbor full of contentment.</p> + +<p>"Have you never been in love?" asked Paul suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so. I was engaged once; you know girls instinctively +engage themselves to some one whom they fancy; they imagine themselves +in love, and it is a pleasant fallacy. My engagement might have gone on +forever, if he had contented himself with a mere engagement. He was a +young army officer stationed miles and miles away. We wrote volumes of +letters to each other—and they were clever letters; it was rather like +a seaside novelette, our love affair. He was lonely, or restless, or +something, and pressed his case. Then Mama and Gene—those ideal +lovers—put their feet down and would none of it."</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I felt perfectly wretched for a whole week, and imagined +myself cruelly abused. You see he was a foreigner, without money; he was +heir to a title, but that would have brought him no advantages in the +household."</p> + +<p>"You recovered. What became of him?"</p> + +<p>"I never learned. He seemed to fade away into thin air. I fear I was not +very much in love."</p> + +<p>"I wonder if all girls are like you—if they forget so easily?"</p> + +<p>"You have yourself declared that the majority have neither form nor +feature; perhaps they have no feeling. How do men feel about a broken +engagement?"</p> + +<p>"I can only speak for myself. There was a time when I felt that marriage +was the inevitable fate of all respectable people. Some one wanted me to +marry a certain some one else. I didn't seem to care much about it; but +my friend was one of those natural-born match-makers; she talked the +young lady up to me in such a shape that I almost fancied myself in love +and actually began to feel that I'd be doing her an injustice if I +permitted her to go on loving and longing for the rest of her days. So +one day I wrote her a proposal; it was the kind of proposal one might +decline without injuring a fellow's feelings in the least—and she did +it!" After a thoughtful pause he continued:</p> + +<p>"By Jove! But wasn't I immensely relieved when her letter came; such a +nice, dear, good letter it was, too, in which she assured me there had +evidently been a mistake somewhere, and nothing had been further from +her thoughts than the hope of marrying me. So she let me down most +beautifully——"</p> + +<p>"And offered to be a sister to you?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps; I don't remember now; I always felt embarrassed after that +when her name was mentioned. I couldn't help thinking what an infernal +ass I'd made of myself."</p> + +<p>"It was all the fault of your friend."</p> + +<p>"Of course it was; I'd never have dreamed of proposing to her if I +hadn't been put up to it by the match-maker. Oh, what a lot of miserable +marriages are brought on in just this way! You see when I like a girl +ever so much, I seem to like her too well to marry her. I think it +would be mean of me to marry her."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because—because I'd get tired after a while; everybody does, sooner or +later,—everybody save your Mama and Eugene,—and then I'd say something +or do something I ought not to say or do, and I'd hate myself for it; or +she'd say something or do something that would make me hate her. We +might, of course, get over it and be very nice to one another; but we +could never be quite the same again. Wounds leave scars, and you can't +forget a scar—can you?"</p> + +<p>"You may scar too easily!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I do, and that is the very best reason why I should avoid the +occasion of one."</p> + +<p>"So you have resolved never to marry?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've resolved it a thousand times, and yet, somehow, I'm forever +meeting some one a little out of the common; some one who takes me by +storm, as it were; some one who seems to me a kind of revelation, and +then I feel as if I must marry her whether or no; sometimes I fear I +shall wake up and find myself married in spite of myself—wouldn't that +be frightful?"</p> + +<p>"Frightful indeed—and then you'd have to get used to it, just as most +married people get used to it in the course of time. You know it's a +very matter-of-fact world we live in, and it takes very matter-of-fact +people to keep it in good running order."</p> + +<p>"Yes. But for these drudges, these hewers of wood and drawers of water, +that ideal pair yonder could not go on painting and embroidering things +of beauty with nothing but the butterflies to bother them."</p> + +<p>"Butterflies don't bother; they open new vistas of beauty, and they set +examples that it would do the world good to follow; the butterfly says, +'my mission is to be brilliant and jolly and to take no thought of the +morrow.'"</p> + +<p>"It's the thought of the morrow, Miss. Juno, that spoils today for +me,—that morrow—who is going to pay the rent of it? Who is going to +keep it in food and clothes?"</p> + +<p>"Paul, you have already lived and loved, where there is no rent to pay +and where the clothing worn is not worth mentioning; as for the food and +the drink in that delectable land, nature provides them both. I don't +see why you need to take thought of the morrow; all you have to do is to +take passage for some South Sea Island, and let the world go by."</p> + +<p>"But the price of the ticket, my friend; where is that to come from? To +be sure I'm only a bachelor, and have none but myself to consider. What +would I do if I had a wife and family to provide for?"</p> + +<p>"You'd do as most other fellows in the same predicament do; you'd +provide for them as well as you could; and if that wasn't sufficient, +you'd desert them, or blow your brains out and leave them to provide for +themselves."</p> + +<p>"An old bachelor is a rather comfortable old party. I'm satisfied with +my manifest destiny; but I'm rather sorry for old maids—aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"That depends; of course everything in life depends; some of the most +beautiful, the most blessed, the most bountifully happy women I have +ever known were old maids; I propose to be one myself—if I live long +enough!"</p> + +<p>After an interlude, during which the bees boomed among the +honey-blossoms, the birds caroled on the boughs, and the two artists +laughed softly as they chatted at their delightful work, Paul resumed:</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Miss. Juno, this anti-climax strikes me as being +exceedingly funny? When I met you the other day, I felt as if I'd met my +fate. I know well enough that I'd felt that way often before, and +promptly recovered from the attack. I certainly never felt it in the +same degree until I came face to face with you. I was never quite so +fairly and squarely face to face with any one before. I came here +because I could not help myself. I simply had to come, and to come at +once. I was resolved to propose to you and to marry you without a cent, +if you'd let me. I didn't expect that you'd let me, but I felt it my +duty to find out. I'm dead sure that I was very much in love with +you—and I am now; but somehow it isn't that spoony sort of love that +makes a man unwholesome and sometimes drives him to drink or to suicide. +I suppose I love you too well to want to marry you; but God knows how +glad I am that we have met, and I hope that we shall never really part +again."</p> + +<p>"Paul!"—Miss. Juno's rather too pallid cheeks were slightly tinged with +rose; she seemed more than ever to belong to that fair garden, to have +become a part of it, in fact;—"Paul," said she, earnestly enough, +"you're an awfully good fellow, and I like you so much; I shall always +like you; but if you had been fool enough to propose to me I should have +despised you. Shake!" And she extended a most shapely hand that clasped +his warmly and firmly. While he still held it without restraint, he +added:</p> + +<p>"Why I like you so much is because you are unlike other girls; that is +to say, you're perfectly natural."</p> + +<p>"Most people who think me unlike other girls, think me unnatural for +that reason. It is hard to be natural, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no, I think it is the easiest thing in the world to be natural. +I'm as natural as I can be, or as anybody can be."</p> + +<p>"And yet I've heard you pronounced a bundle of affectations."</p> + +<p>"I know that—it's been said in my hearing, but I don't care in the +least; it is natural for the perfectly natural person <i>not</i> to care in +the least."</p> + +<p>"I think, perhaps, it is easier for boys to be natural, than for girls," +said Miss. Juno.</p> + +<p>"Yes, boys are naturally more natural," replied Paul with much +confidence.</p> + +<p>Miss. Juno smiled an amused smile.</p> + +<p>Paul resumed—"I hardly ever knew a girl who didn't wish herself a boy. +Did you ever see a boy who wanted to be a girl?"</p> + +<p>"I've seen some who ought to have been girls—and who would have made +very droll girls. I know an old gentleman who used to bewail the +degeneracy of the age and exclaim in despair, 'Boys will be girls!'" +laughed Miss. Juno.</p> + +<p>"Horrible thought! But why is it that girlish boys are so unpleasant +while tom-boys are delightful?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied she, "unless the girlish boy has lost the charm +of his sex, that is manliness; and the tom-boy has lost the defect of +hers—a kind of selfish dependence."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure the girls like you, don't they?'' he added.</p> + +<p>"Not always; and there are lots of girls I can't endure!"</p> + +<p>"I've noticed that women who are most admired by women are seldom +popular with men; and that the women the men go wild over are little +appreciated by their own sex," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've noticed that; as for myself my best friends are masculine; +but when I was away at boarding-school my chum, who was immensely +popular, used to call me Jack!"</p> + +<p>"How awfully jolly; may I call you 'Jack' and will you be my chum?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I will; but what idiots the world would think us."</p> + +<p>"Who cares?" cried he defiantly. "There are millions of fellows this +very moment who would give their all for such a pal as you are—Jack!"</p> + +<p>There was a fluttering among the butterflies; the artists had risen and +were standing waist-deep in the garden of gracious things; they were +coming to Paul and Miss. Juno, and in amusing pantomime announcing that +pangs of hunger were compelling their return to the cottage; the truth +is, it was long past the lunch hour—and a large music-box which had +been set in motion when the light repast was laid had failed to catch +the ear with its tinkling aria.</p> + +<p>All four of the occupants of the garden turned leisurely toward the +cottage. Miss. Juno had rested her hand on Paul's shoulder and said in a +delightfully confidential way: "Let it be a secret that we are chums, +dear boy—the world is such an idiot."</p> + +<p>"All right, Jack," whispered Paul, trying to hug himself in delight, +'Little secrets are cozy.'"</p> + +<p>And in the scent of the roses it was duly embalmed.</p> + + +<p class="center">III</p> + +<p>Happy is the man who is without encumbrances—that that is if he knows +how to be happy. Whenever Paul Clitheroe found the burden of the day +becoming oppressive he cast it off, and sought solace in a change of +scene. He could always, or almost always, do this at a moment's notice. +It chanced, upon a certain occasion, when a little community of artists +were celebrating the sale of a great picture—the masterpiece of one of +their number—that word was sent to Paul to join their feast. He found +the large studio where several of them worked intermittently, highly +decorated; a table was spread in a manner to have awakened an appetite +even upon the palate of the surfeited; there were music and dancing, and +bacchanalian revels that went on and on from night to day and on to +night again. It was a veritable feast of lanterns, and not until the +last one had burned to the socket and the wine-vats were empty and the +studio strewn with unrecognizable debris and permeated with odors stale, +flat and unprofitable, did the revels cease. Paul came to dine; he +remained three days; he had not yet worn out his welcome, but he had +resolved, as was his wont at intervals, to withdraw from the world, and +so he returned to the Eyrie,—which was ever his initial step toward the +accomplishment of the longed-for end.</p> + +<p>Not very many days later Paul received the breeziest of letters; it was +one of a series of racy rhapsodies that came to him bearing the Santa +Rosa postmark. They were such letters as a fellow might write to a +college chum, but with no line that could have brought a blush to the +cheek of modesty—not that the college chum is necessarily given to the +inditing of such epistles. These letters were signed "Jack."</p> + +<p>"Jack" wrote to say how the world was all in bloom and the rose-garden +one bewildering maze of blossoms; how Mama was still embroidering from +nature in the midst thereof, crowned with a wreath of butterflies and +with one uncommonly large one perched upon her Psyche shoulder and +fanning her cheek with its brilliantly dyed wing; how Eugene was +reveling in his art, painting lovely pictures of the old Spanish +Missions with shadowy outlines of the ghostly fathers, long since +departed, haunting the dismantled cloisters; how the air was like the +breath of heaven, and the twilight unspeakably pathetic, and they were +all three constantly reminded of Italy and forever talking of Rome and +the Campagna, and Venice, and imagining themselves at home again and +Paul with them, for they had resolved that he was quite out of his +element in California; they had sworn he must be rescued; he must return +with them to Italy and that right early. He must wind up his affairs and +set his house in order at once and forever; he should never go back to +it again, but live a new life and a gentler life in that oldest and most +gentle of lands; they simply <i>must</i> take him with them and seat him by +the shore of the Venetian Sea, where he could enjoy his melancholy, if +he must be melancholy, and find himself for the first time provided with +a suitable background. This letter came to him inlaid with rose petals; +they showered upon him in all their fragrance as he read the inspiring +pages and, since "Jack" with quite a martial air had issued a mandate +which ran as follows, "Order No. 19—Paul Clitheroe will, upon receipt +of this, report immediately at headquarters at Santa Rosa," he placed +the key of his outer door in his pocket and straightway departed without +more ado.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>They swung in individual hammocks, Paul and "Jack," within the +rose-screened veranda. The conjugal affinities, Violet and Eugene, were +lost to the world in the depths of the rose-garden beyond sight and +hearing.</p> + +<p>Said Jack, resuming a rambling conversation which had been interrupted +by the noisy passage of a bee, "That particular bee reminds me of some +people who fret over their work, and who make others who are seeking +rest, extremely uncomfortable."</p> + +<p>Paul was thoughtful for a few moments and then remarked: "And yet it is +a pleasant work he is engaged in, and his days are passed in the fairest +fields; he evidently enjoys his trade even if he does seem to bustle +about it. I can excuse the buzz and the hum in him, when I can't always +in the human tribes."</p> + +<p>"If you knew what he was saying just now, perhaps you'd find him as +disagreeable as the man who is condemned to earn his bread in the sweat +of his brow, and makes more or less of a row about it."</p> + +<p>"Very likely, Jack, but these bees are born with business instincts, and +they can't enjoy loafing; they don't know how to be idle. Being as busy +as a busy bee must be being very busy!"</p> + +<p>"There is the hum of the hive in that phrase, old boy! I'm sure you've +been working up to it all along. Come now, confess, you've had that in +hand for some little time."</p> + +<p>"Well, what if I have? That is what writers do, and they have to do it. +How else can they make their dialogue in the least attractive? Did you +ever write a story, Jack?"</p> + +<p>"No, of course not; how perfectly absurd!"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least absurd. You've been reading novels ever since you were +born. You've the knack of the thing, the telling of a story, the +developing of a plot, the final wind-up of the whole concern, right at +your tongue's end."</p> + +<p>"Paul, you're an idiot."</p> + +<p>"Idiot, Jack? I'm nothing of the sort and I can prove what I've just +been saying to you about yourself. Now, listen and don't interrupt me +until I've said my say."</p> + +<p>Paul caught hold of a branch of vine close at hand and set his hammock +swinging slowly. Miss. Juno settled herself more comfortably in hers, +and seemed much interested and amused.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Paul, with a comical air of importance—"now, any one who +has anything at his tongue's end, has it, or <i>can</i>, just as well as not, +have it at his finger's end. If you can tell a story well, and you can, +Jack, you know you can, you can write it just as well. You have only to +tell it with your pen instead of with your lips; and if you will only +write it exactly as you speak it, so long as your verbal version is a +good one, your pen version is bound to be equally as good; moreover, it +seems to me that in this way one is likely to adopt the most natural +style, which is, of course, the best of all styles. Now what do you say +to that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing," after a little pause—"however I doubt that any one, male +or female, can take up pen for the first time and tell a tale like a +practised writer."</p> + +<p>"Of course not. The practised writer has a style of his own, a +conventional narrative style which may be very far from nature. People +in books very seldom talk as they do in real life. When people in books +begin to talk like human beings the reader thinks the dialogue either +commonplace or mildly realistic, and votes it a bore."</p> + +<p>"Then why try to write as one talks? Why not cultivate the conventional +style of the practised writer?"</p> + +<p>"Why talk commonplaces?" cried Paul a little tartly. "Of course most +people must do so if they talk at all, and they are usually the people +who talk all the time. But I have known people whose ordinary +conversation was extraordinary, and worth putting down in a book—every +word of it."</p> + +<p>"In my experience," said Miss. Juno, "people who talk like books are a +burden."</p> + +<p>"They needn't talk like the conventional book, I tell you. Let them have +something to say and say it cleverly—that is the kind of conversation +to make books of."</p> + +<p>"What if all that we've been saying here, under the rose, as it were, +were printed just as we've said it?"</p> + +<p>"What if it were? It would at least be natural, and we've been saying +something of interest to each other; why should it not interest a third +party?"</p> + +<p>Miss. Juno smiled and rejoined, "I am not a confirmed eavesdropper, but +I often find myself so situated that I cannot avoid overhearing what +other people are saying to one another; it is seldom that, under such +circumstances, I hear anything that interests me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but if you knew the true story of those very people, all that they +may be saying in your hearing would no doubt possess an interest, +inasmuch as it would serve to develop their history."</p> + +<p>"Our conversation is growing a little thin, Paul, don't you think so? We +couldn't put all this into a book."</p> + +<p>"If it helped to give a clue to our character and our motives, we could. +The thing is to be interesting: if we are interesting, in ourselves, by +reason of our original charm or our unconventionality, almost anything +we might say or do ought to interest others. Conventional people are +never interesting."</p> + +<p>"Yet the majority of mankind is conventional to a degree; the +conventionals help to fill up; their habitual love of conventionality, +or their fear of the unconventional, is what keeps them in their place. +This is very fortunate. On the other hand, a world full of people too +clever to be kept in their proper spheres, would be simply intolerable. +But there is no danger of this!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are right," said Paul after a moment's pause;—"you are +interesting, and that is why I like you so well."</p> + +<p>"You mean that I am unconventional?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. And, as I said before, that is why I'm so awfully fond of you. +By Jove, I'm so glad I'm not in love with you, Jack."</p> + +<p>"So am I, old boy; I couldn't put up with that at all; you'd have to go +by the next train, you know; you would, really. And yet, if we are to +write a novel apiece we shall be obliged to put love into it; love with +a very large L."</p> + +<p>"No we wouldn't; I'm sure we wouldn't."</p> + +<p>Miss. Juno shook her golden locks in doubt—Paul went on +persistently:—"I'm dead sure we wouldn't; and to prove it, some day +I'll write a story without its pair of lovers; everybody shall be more +or less spoony—but nobody shall be really in love."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't be a story, Paul."</p> + +<p>"It would be a history, or a fragment of a history, a glimpse of a life +at any rate, and that is as much as we ever get of the lives of those +around us. Why can't I tell you the story of one fellow—of myself for +example; how one day I met this person, and the next day I met that +person, and next week some one else comes on to the stage, and struts +his little hour and departs. I'm not trying to give my audience, my +readers, any knowledge of that other fellow. My reader must see for +himself how each of those fellows in his own way has influenced me. The +story is my story, a study of myself, nothing more or less. If the +reader don't like me he may lay me down in my cloth or paper cover, and +have nothing more to do with me. If I'm not a hero, perhaps it's not so +much my fault as my misfortune. That people are interested in me, and +show it in a thousand different ways, assures me that <i>my</i> story, not +the story of those with whom I'm thrown in contact, is what interests +them. It's a narrow-gauge, single-track story, but it runs through a +delightful bit of country, and if my reader wants to look out of my +windows and see things as I see them and find out how they influence me +he is welcome; if he doesn't, he may get off at the very next station +and change cars for Elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"I shall have love in my story," said Miss. Juno, with an amusing touch +of sentiment that on her lips sounded like polite comedy.</p> + +<p>"You may have all the love you like, and appeal to the same old +novel-reader who has been reading the same sort of love story for the +last hundred years, and when you've finished your work and your reader +has stood by you to the sweet or bitter end, no one will be any the +wiser or better. You've taught nothing, you've untaught nothing——and +there you are!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! A young man with a mission! Do you propose to revolutionize?"</p> + +<p>"No; revolutions only roil the water. You might as well try to make +water flow up-hill as to really revolutionize anything. I'd beautify the +banks of the stream, and round the sharp turns in it, and weed it out, +and sow water-lilies, and set the white swan with her snow-flecked +breast afloat. That's what I'd do!"</p> + +<p>"That's the art of the landscape gardener; I don't clearly see how it is +of benefit to the novelist, Paul! Now, honestly, is it?"</p> + +<p>"You don't catch my meaning, Jack; girls are deuced dull, you know,—I +mean obtuse." Miss. Juno flushed. "I wasn't referring to the novel; I +was saying that instead of writing my all in a vain effort to +revolutionize anything in particular, I'd try to get all the good I +could out of the existing evil, and make the best of it. But let's not +talk in this vein any longer; I hate argument. Argument is nothing but a +logical or illogical set-to; begin it as politely as you please, it is +not long before both parties throw aside their gloves and go in with +naked and bloody fists; one of the two gets knocked out, but he hasn't +been convinced of anything in particular; he was not in condition, that +is all; better luck next time."</p> + +<p>"Have you the tobacco, Paul?" asked Miss Juno, extending her hand. The +tobacco was silently passed from one hammock to the other; each rolled a +cigarette, and lit it. Paul blew a great smoke ring into the air; his +companion blew a lesser one that shot rapidly after the larger halo, and +the two were speedily blended in a pretty vapor wraith.</p> + +<p>"That's the ghost of an argument, Jack," said Paul, glancing above. He +resumed: "What I was about to say when I was interrupted"—this was his +pet joke; he knew well enough that he had been monopolizing the +conversation of the morning—"what I was about to say was this: my novel +shall be full of love, but you won't know that it is love—I mean the +every-day love of the every-day people. In my book everybody is going to +love everybody else—or almost everybody else; if there is any sort of a +misunderstanding it sha'n't matter much. I hate rows; I believe in the +truest and the fondest fellowship. What is true love? It is bosom +friendship; that is the purest passion of love. It is the only love that +lasts."</p> + +<p>There was a silence for the space of some minutes; Paul and Miss. Juno +were quietly, dreamily smoking. Without, among the roses, there was the +boom of bees; the carol of birds, the flutter of balancing butterflies. +Nature was very soothing, she was in one of her sweetest moods. The two +friends were growing drowsy. Miss. Juno, if she at times betrayed a +feminine fondness for argument, was certainly in no haste to provoke +Paul to a further discussion of the quality of love or friendship; +presently she began rather languidly:</p> + +<p>"You were saying I ought to write, and that you believe I can, if I will +only try. I'm going to try; I've been thinking of something that +happened within my knowledge; perhaps I can make a magazine sketch of +it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, please write it, Jack! Write it, and send the manuscript to me, +that I may place it for you; will you? Promise me you will!" The boy was +quite enthusiastic, and his undisguised pleasure in the prospect of +seeing something from the pen of his pal—as he loved to call Miss. +Juno—seemed to awaken a responsive echo in her heart.</p> + +<p>"I will, Paul; I promise you!"—and the two struck hands on it.</p> + + +<p class="center">IV</p> + +<p>When Paul returned to the Eyrie, it had been decided that Miss. Juno was +to at once begin her first contribution to periodic literature. She had +found her plot; she had only to tell her story in her own way, just as +if she were recounting it to Paul. Indeed, at his suggestion, she had +promised to sit with pen in hand and address him as if he were actually +present. In this way he hoped she would drop into the narrative style +natural to her, and so attractive to her listeners.</p> + +<p>As for Paul Clitheroe, he was to make inquiry among his editorial +friends in the Misty City, and see if he might not effect some +satisfactory arrangement with one or another of them, whereby he would +be placed in a position enabling him to go abroad in the course of a few +weeks, and remain abroad indefinitely. He would make Venice his +headquarters; he would have the constant society of his friends; the +fellowship of Jack; together, after the joint literary labors of the +day, they would stem the sluggish tide of the darksome canals and +exchange sentiment and cigarette smoke in mutual delight. Paul was to +write a weekly or a semi-monthly letter to the journal employing him as +a special correspondent. At intervals, in the company of his friends, or +alone, he would set forth upon one of those charming excursions so +fruitful of picturesque experience, and return to his lodgings on the +Schiavoni, to work them up into magazine articles; these would later, of +course, get into book form; from the book would come increased +reputation, a larger source of revenue, and the contentment of success +which he so longed for, so often thought he had found, and so seldom +enjoyed for any length of time.</p> + +<p>All this was to be arranged,—or rather the means to which all this was +the delightful end—was to be settled as soon as possible. Miss. Juno, +having finished her story, was to send word to Paul and he was to hie +him to the Rose Garden; thereafter at an ideal dinner, elaborated in +honor of the occasion, Eugene was to read the maiden effort, while the +author, sustained by the sympathetic presence of her admiring Mama and +her devoted Paul, awaited the verdict.</p> + +<p>This was to be the test—a trying one for Miss Juno. As for Paul, he +felt quite patriarchal, and yet, so genuine and so deep was his interest +in the future of his protégée, that he was already showing symptoms of +anxiety.</p> + +<p>The article having been sent to the editor of the first magazine in the +land, the family would be ready to fold its æsthetic tent and depart; +Paul, of course, accompanying them.</p> + +<p>It was a happy thought; visions of Venice; the moonlit lagoon; the +reflected lamps plunging their tongues of flame into the sea; the humid +air, the almost breathless silence, broken at intervals by the baying of +deep-mouthed bells; the splash of oars; the soft tripping measure of +human voices and the refrain of the gondoliers; Jack by his side—Jack +now in her element, with the maroon fez of the distinguished howadji +tilted upon the back of her handsome head, her shapely finger-nails +stained with henna, her wrists weighed down with their scores of +tinkling bangles! Could anything be jollier?</p> + +<p>Paul gave himself up to the full enjoyment of this dream. Already he +seemed to have overcome every obstacle, and to be reveling in the +subdued but sensuous joys of the Adriatic queen. Sometimes he had fled +in spirit to the sweet seclusion of the cloistral life at San Lazaro. +Byron did it before him;—the plump, the soft-voiced, mild-visaged +little Arminians will tell you all about that, and take immense pleasure +in the telling of it. Paul had also known a fellow-writer who had +emulated Byron, and had even distanced the Byron record in one respect +at least—he had outstayed his lordship at San Lazaro!</p> + +<p>Sometimes Paul turned hermit, in imagination and dwelt alone upon the +long sands of the melancholy Lido; not seeing Jack, or anybody, save the +waiter at the neighboring restaurant, for days and days together. It was +immensely diverting, this dream-life that Paul led in far distant +Venice. It was just the life he loved, the ideal life, and it wasn't +costing him a cent—no, not a <i>soldo</i>, to speak more in the Venetian +manner.</p> + +<p>While he was looking forward to the life to come, he had hardly time to +perfect his arrangements for a realization of it. He was to pack +everything and store it in a bonded warehouse, where it should remain +until he had taken root abroad. Then he would send for it and settle in +the spot he loved best of all, and there write and dream and drink the +wine of the country, while the Angelus bells ringing thrice a day awoke +him to a realizing sense of the fairy-like flight of time just as they +have been doing for ages past, and, let us hope, as they will continue +to do forever and forever.</p> + +<p>One day he stopped dreaming of Italy, and resolved to secure his +engagement as a correspondent. Miss. Juno had written him that her +sketch was nearly finished; that he must hold himself in readiness to +answer her summons at a moment's notice. The season was advancing; no +time was to be lost, etc. Paul started at once for the office of his +favorite journal; his interview was not entirely satisfactory. Editors, +one and all, as he called upon them in succession, didn't seem +especially anxious to send the young man abroad for an indefinite +period; the salary requested seemed exorbitant. They each made a +proposition; all said: "This is the best I can do at present; go to the +other offices, and if you receive a better offer we advise you to take +it." This seemed reasonable enough, but as their best rate was fifteen +dollars for one letter a week he feared that even the highly respectable +second-class accommodations of all sorts to which he must confine +himself would be beyond his means.</p> + +<p>Was he losing interest in the scheme which had afforded him so many +hours of sweet, if not solid, satisfaction? No, not exactly. Poverty was +more picturesque abroad than in his prosaic native land. His song was +not quite so joyous, that was all; he would go to Italy; he would take a +smaller room; he would eat at the Trattoria of the people; he would make +studies of the peasant, the <i>contadini</i>. Jack had written, "There is pie +in Venice when we are there; Mama knows how to make pie; pie cannot be +purchased elsewhere. Love is the price thereof!" And pie is very +filling. Yes, he would go to Europe on fifteen dollars per week and find +paradise in the bright particular Venetian Pie!</p> + + +<p class="center">V</p> + +<p>After many days a great change came to pass. Everybody knew that Paul +Clitheroe had disappeared without so much as a "good-by" to his most +intimate friends. Curiosity was excited for a little while, but for a +little while only. Soon he was forgotten, or remembered by no one save +those who had known and loved him and who at intervals regretted him.</p> + +<p>And Miss. Juno? Ah, Miss. Juno, the joy of Paul's young dreams! Having +been launched successfully at his hands, and hoping in her brave, +off-hand way to be of service to him, she continued to write as much for +his sake as for her own; she knew it would please him beyond compare +were she to achieve a pronounced literary success. He had urged her to +write a novel. She had lightly laughed him to scorn—and had kept +turning in her mind the possible plot for a tale. One day it suddenly +took shape; the whole thing seemed to her perfectly plain sailing; if +Clitheroe had launched her upon that venturesome sea, she had suddenly +found herself equipped and able to sail without the aid of any one.</p> + +<p>She had written to Paul of her joy in this new discovery. Before her +loomed the misty outlines of fair far islands; she was about to set +forth to people these. Oh, the joy of that! The unspeakable joy of it! +She spread all sail on this voyage of discovery—she asked for nothing +more save the prayers of her old comrade. She longed to have him near +her so that together they might discuss the situations in her story, one +after another. If he were only in Venice they would meet daily over +their dinner, and after dinner she would read to him what she had +written since they last met; then they would go in a gondola for a +moonlight cruise; of course it was always moonlight in Venice! Would +this not be delightful and just as an all-wise Providence meant it +should be? Paul had read something like this in the letters which she +used to write him when he was divided against himself; when he began to +feel himself sinking, without a hand to help him. Venice was out of the +question then; it were vain for him to even dream of it.</p> + +<p>So time went on; Miss. Juno became a slave of the lamp; her work grew +marvelously under her pen. Her little people led her a merry chase; they +whispered in her ears night and day; she got no rest of them—but rose +again and again to put down the clever things they said, and so, almost +before she knew it, her novel had grown into three fine English volumes +with inch-broad margins, half-inch spacings, large type and heavy paper. +She was amazed to find how important her work had become.</p> + +<p>Fortune favored her. She found a publisher who was ready to bring out +her book at once; two sets of proofs were forwarded to her; these she +corrected with deep delight, returning one to her London publisher and +sending one to America, where another publisher was ready to issue the +work simultaneously with the English print.</p> + +<p>It made its appearance under a pen-name in England—anonymously in +America. What curiosity it awakened may be judged by the instantaneous +success of the work in both countries: Tauchnitz at once added it to his +fascinating list; the French and German translators negotiated for the +right to run it as a serial in Paris and Berlin journals. Considerable +curiosity was awakened concerning the identity of the authorship, and +the personal paragraphers made a thousand conjectures, all of which +helped the sale of the novel immensely and amused Miss. Juno and her +confidants beyond expression.</p> + +<p>All this was known to Clitheroe before he had reached the climax that +forced him to the wall. He had written to Miss. Juno; and he had called +her "Jack" as of old, but he felt and she realized that he felt that the +conditions were changed. The atmosphere of the rose-garden was gone +forever; the hopes and aspirations that were so easy and so airy then, +had folded their wings like bruised butterflies or faded like the +flowers. She resolved to wait until he had recovered his senses and then +perhaps he would come to Venice and to them—which in her estimation +amounted to one and the same thing.</p> + +<p>She wrote to him no more; he had not written her for weeks, save only +the few lines of congratulation on the success of her novel, and to +thank her for the author's copy she had sent him: the three-volume +London edition with a fond inscription on the flyleaf—a line in each +volume. This was the end of all that.</p> + +<p>Once more she wrote, but not to Clitheroe; she wrote to a friend she had +known when she was in the far West, one who knew Paul well and was +always eager for news of him.</p> + +<p>The letter, or a part of it, ran as follows: +</p> + +<p>"Of course such weather as this is not to be shut out-of-doors; we feed +on it; we drink it in; we bathe in it, body and soul. Ah, my friend, +know a June in Venice before you die! Don't dare to die until you have +become saturated with the aerial-aquatic beauty of this Divine Sea-City!</p> + +<p>"Oh, I was about to tell you something when the charms of this Syren +made me half-delirious and of course I forgot all else in life—I always +do so. Well, as we leave in a few days for the delectable Dolonites, we +are making our rounds of P. P. C.'s,—that we are revisiting every nook +and corner in the lagoon so dear to us. We invariably do this; it is the +most delicious leave-taking imaginable. If I were only Niobe I'd water +these shores with tears—I'm sure I would; but you know I never weep; I +never did; I don't know how; there is not a drop of brine in my whole +composition.</p> + +<p>"Dear me! how I do rattle on—but you know my moods and will make due +allowance for what might strike the cold, unfeeling world as being +garrulity.</p> + +<p>"We had resolved to visit that most enchanting of all Italian shrines, +San Francisco del Deserto. We had not been there for an age; you know it +is rather a long pull over, and one waits for the most perfect hour when +one ventures upon the outskirts of the lagoon.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the unspeakable loveliness of that perfect day! The mellowing haze +that veiled the water; the heavenly blue of the sea, a mirror of the +sky, and floating in between the two, so that one could not be quite +sure whether it slumbered in the lap of the sea or hung upon the bosom +of the sky, that ideal summer island—San Francisco del Deserto.</p> + +<p>"You know it is only a few acres in extent—not more than six, I fancy, +and four-fifths of it are walled about with walls that stand knee-deep +in sea-grasses. Along, and above it, are thrust the tapering tops of +those highly decorative cypresses without which Italy would not be +herself at all. There is such a monastery there—an ideal one, with +cloister, and sundial, and marble-curbed well, and all that; at least +so I am told; we poor feminine creatures are not permitted to cross the +thresholds of these Holy Houses. This reminds me of a remark I heard +made by a very clever woman who wished to have a glimpse of the interior +of that impossible Monte Casino on the mountain top between Rome and +Naples. Of course she was refused admission; she turned upon the poor +Benedictine, who was only obeying orders—it is a rule of the house, you +know—and said, 'Why do you refuse me admission to this shrine? Is it +because I am of the same sex as the mother of your God?' But she didn't +get in for all that. Neither have I crossed the threshold of San +Francisco del Deserto, but I have wandered upon the green in front of +the little chapel; and sat under the trees in contemplation of the sea +and wished—yes, really and truly wished—that I were a barefooted +Franciscan friar with nothing to do but look picturesque in such a +terrestrial paradise.</p> + +<p>"What do you think happened when we were there the other day? Now at +last I am coming to it. We were all upon the Campo in front of the +chapel—Violet, Eugene and I; the Angelus had just rung; it was the hour +of all hours in one's lifetime; the deepening twilight—we had the moon +to light us on our homeward way—the inexpressible loveliness of the +atmosphere, the unutterable peace, the unspeakable serenity—the repose +in nature—I cannot begin to express myself!</p> + +<p>"Out of the chapel came the Father Superior. He knows us very well, for +we have often visited the island; he always offers us some refreshment, +a cup of mass wine, or a dish of fruit, and so he did on this occasion. +We were in no hurry to leave the shore and so accepted his invitation to +be seated under the trees while he ordered the repast.</p> + +<p>"Presently he returned and was shortly followed by a young friar whom we +had never seen before; there are not many of them there—a dozen +perhaps—and their faces are more or less familiar to us, for even we +poor women may kneel without the gratings in their little chapel, and so +we have learned to know the faces we have seen there in the choir. But +this one was quite new to us and so striking; his eyes were ever raised; +he offered us a dish of bread and olives, while the abbot poured our +wine, and the very moment we had served ourselves he quietly withdrew.</p> + +<p>"I could think of but one thing—indeed we all thought of it at the same +moment—'tis Browning's—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'What's become of Waring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since he gave us all the slip?'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"You know the lines well enough. Why did we think of it?—because we +were all startled, so startled that the abbot who usually sees us to our +gondola, made his abrupt adieus, on some slight pretext, and the door of +the monastery was bolted fast.</p> + +<p>"Oh, me! How long it takes to tell a little tale—to be sure! We knew +that face, the face of the young friar; we knew the hand—it was +unmistakable; we have all agreed upon it and are ready to swear to it on +our oaths! That novice was none other than Paul Clitheroe!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="A_LITTLE_SAVAGE_GENTLEMAN" id="A_LITTLE_SAVAGE_GENTLEMAN"></a><a href="#toc">A LITTLE SAVAGE<br />GENTLEMAN</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">ISOBEL STRONG</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>Scribner's Magazine</i> by permission</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/i.jpg" alt="I" /></span>F YOU want a child as badly as all that," my brother said, "why not +adopt a chief's son, some one who is handsome and well-born, and will be +a credit to you, instead of crying your eyes out over a little common +brat who is an ungrateful cub, and ugly into the bargain?"</p> + +<p>I wasn't particularly fond of the "common brat," but I had grown used to +tending him, bandaging his miserable little foot and trying to make his +lot easier to bear; and he had been spirited away. One may live long in +Samoa without understanding the whys and wherefores. His mother may have +been jealous of my care of the child and carried him away in the night; +or the clan to which he belonged may have sent for him, though his +reputed father was our assistant cook. At any rate, he had +gone—departed as completely and entirely as though he had vanished into +thin air, and I, sitting on the steps of the veranda, gave way to tears.</p> + +<p>Two days later, as I hastened across the courtyard, I turned the corner +suddenly, nearly falling over a small Samoan boy, who stood erect in a +gallant pose before the house, leaning upon a long stick of sugar-cane, +as though it were a spear.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" I asked, in the native language.</p> + +<p>"I am your son," was the surprising reply.</p> + +<p>"And what is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Pola," he said. "Pola, of Tanugamanono, and my mother is the white +chief lady, Teuila of Vailima."</p> + +<p>He was a beautiful creature, of an even tint of light bronze-brown; his +slender body reflected the polish of scented cocoanut oil, the tiny +garment he called his <i>lava-lava</i> fastened at the waist was coquettishly +kilted above one knee. He wore a necklace of scarlet berries across his +shoulders, and a bright red hibiscus flower stuck behind his ear. On his +round, smooth cheek a single rose-leaf hid the dimple. His large black +eyes looked up at me with an expression of terror, overcome by pure +physical courage. From the top of his curly head to the soles of his +high-arched slender foot he looked <i>tama'alii</i>—high-bred. To all my +inquiries he answered in purest high-chief Samoan that he was my son.</p> + +<p>My brother came to the rescue with explanations. Taking pity on me, he +had gone to our village (as we called Tanugamanono) and adopted the +chief's second son in my name, and here he was come to present himself +in person.</p> + +<p>I shook hands with him, a ceremony he performed very gracefully with +great dignity. Then he offered me the six feet of sugar-cane, with the +remark that it was a small, trifling gift, unworthy of my high-chief +notice. I accepted it with a show of great joy and appreciation, though +by a turn of the head one could see acres of sugar-cane growing on the +other side of the river.</p> + +<p>There was an element of embarrassment in the possession of this +charming creature. I could not speak the Samoan language very well at +that time, and saw, by his vague but polite smile, that much of my +conversation was incomprehensible to him. His language to me was so +extremely "high-chief" that I couldn't understand more than three words +in a sentence. What made the situation still more poignant was that look +of repressed fear glinting in the depths of his black velvety eyes.</p> + +<p>I took him by the hand (that trembled slightly in mine, though he walked +boldly along with me) and led him about the house, thinking the sight of +all the wonders of Vailima might divert his mind. When I threw open the +door of the hall, with its pictures and statues, waxed floor and glitter +of silver on the sideboard, Pola made the regulation quotation from +Scripture, "And behold the half has not been told me."</p> + +<p>He went quite close to the tiger-skin, with the glass eyes and big +teeth. "It is not living?" he asked, and when I assured him it was dead +he remarked that it was a large pussy, and then added, gravely, that he +supposed the forests of London were filled with these animals.</p> + +<p>He held my hand quite tightly going up the stairs, and I realized then +that he could never have mounted a staircase before. Indeed, everything +in the house, even chairs and tables, books and pictures, were new and +strange to this little savage gentleman.</p> + +<p>I took him to my room, where I had a number of letters to write. He sat +on the floor at my feet very obediently while I went on with my work. +Looking down a few minutes later I saw that he had fallen asleep, lying +on a while rug in a childish, graceful attitude, and I realized again +his wild beauty and charm.</p> + +<p>Late in the day, as it began to grow dark, I asked Pola if he did not +want to go home.</p> + +<p>"No, Teuila," he answered, bravely.</p> + +<p>"But you will be my boy just the same," I explained. "Only you see Tumau +(his real mother) will be lonely at first. So you can sleep at the +village and come and see me during the day."</p> + +<p>His eyes lit up with that and the first smile of the day overspread his +face, showing the whitest teeth imaginable.</p> + +<p>It was not long before he was perfectly at home in Vailima. He would +arrive in the morning early, attended by a serving-man of his family, +who walked meekly in the young chief's footsteps, carrying the usual +gift for me. Sometimes it was sugar-cane, or a wreath woven by the +village girls, or a single fish wrapped in a piece of banana-leaf, or a +few fresh water prawns, or even a bunch of wayside flowers; my little +son seldom came empty-handed.</p> + +<p>It was Pola who really taught me the Samoan language. Ordinarily the +natives cannot simplify their remarks for foreigners, but Pola invented +a sort of Samoan baby-talk for me; sometimes, if I could not understand, +he would shake me with his fierce little brown hands, crying, "Stupid, +stupid!" But generally he was extremely patient with me, trying a +sentence in half a dozen different ways, with his bright eyes fixed +eagerly on my face, and when the sense of what he said dawned upon me +and I repeated it to prove that I understood, his own countenance would +light up with an expression of absolute pride and triumph. "Good!" he +would say, approvingly. "Great is your high-chief wisdom!"</p> + +<p>Once we spent a happy afternoon together in the forest picking up queer +land-shells, bright berries and curious flowers, while Pola dug up a +number of plants by the roots. I asked him the next day what he had done +with the beautiful red flowers. His reply was beyond me, so I shook my +head. He looked at me anxiously for a moment with that worried +expression that so often crossed his face in conversation with me, and, +patting the floor, scraped up an imaginary hole, "They sit down in the +dusty," he said in baby Samoan. "Where?" I asked. "In front of Tumau." +And then I understood that he had planted them in the ground before his +mother's house.</p> + +<p>Another time he came up all laughter and excitement to tell of an +adventure.</p> + +<p>"Your brother," he said, "the high-chief Loia, he of the four eyes +(eye-glasses), came riding by the village as I was walking up to +Vailima. He offered me a ride on his chief-horse and gave me his +chief-hand. I put my foot on the stirrup, and just as I jumped the horse +shied, and, as I had hold of the high-chief Loia, we both fell off into +the road <i>palasi</i>."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, "you both fell off. That was very funny."</p> + +<p>"<i>Palasi</i>!" he reiterated.</p> + +<p>But here I looked doubtful. Pola repeated his word several times as +though the very sound ought to convey some idea to my bemuddled brain, +and then a bright idea struck him. I heard his bare feet pattering +swiftly down the stairs. He came flying back, still laughing, and laid a +heavy dictionary in my lap. I hastily turned the leaves, Pola questing +in each one like an excited little dog, till I found the definition of +his word, "to fall squash like a ripe fruit on the ground."</p> + +<p>"<i>Palasi</i>!" he cried, triumphantly, when he saw I understood, making a +gesture downward with both hands, the while laughing heartily. "We both +fell off <i>palasi</i>!"</p> + +<p>It was through Pola that I learned all the news of Tanugamanono. He +would curl up on the floor at my feet as I sat in my room sewing, and +pour forth an endless stream of village gossip. How Mata, the native +parson, had whipped his daughter for going to a picnic on Sunday and +drinking a glass of beer.</p> + +<p>"Her father went whack! whack!" Pola illustrated the scene with gusto, +"and Maua cried, ah! ah! But the village says Mata is right, for we must +not let the white man's evil come near us."</p> + +<p>"Evil?" I said; "what evil?"</p> + +<p>"Drink," said Pola, solemnly.</p> + +<p>Then he told how "the ladies of Tanugamanono" bought a pig of Mr. B., a +trader, each contributing a dollar until forty dollars were collected. +There was to be a grand feast among the ladies on account of the +choosing of a maid or <i>taupo</i>, the young girl who represents the village +on all state occasions. When the pig came it turned out to be an old +boar, so tough and rank it could not be eaten. The ladies were much +ashamed before their guests, and asked the white man for another pig, +but he only laughed at them. He had their money, so he did not care, +"That was very, very bad of him," I exclaimed, indignantly.</p> + +<p>"It is the way of white people," said Pola, philosophically.</p> + +<p>It was through my little chief that we learned of a bit of fine +hospitality. It seems that pigs were scarce in the village, so each +house-chief pledged himself to refrain from killing one of them for six +months. Any one breaking this rule agreed to give over his house to be +looted by the village.</p> + +<p>Pola came up rather late one morning, and told me, hilariously, of the +fun they had had looting Tupuola's house.</p> + +<p>"But Tupuola is a friend of ours," I said. "I don't like to hear of all +his belongings being scattered."</p> + +<p>"It is all right," Pola explained. "Tupuola said to the village, 'Come +and loot. I have broken the law and I will pay the forfeit.'"</p> + +<p>"How did he break the law?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"When the high-chief Loia, your brother of the four eyes, stopped the +night at Tanugamanono, on his way to the shark fishing, he stayed with +Tupuola, so of course it was chiefly to kill a pig in his honor."</p> + +<p>"But it was against the law. My brother would not have liked it, and +Tupuola must have felt badly to know his house was to be looted."</p> + +<p>"He would have felt worse," said Pola, "to have acted unchiefly to a +friend."</p> + +<p>We never would have known of the famine in Tanugamanono if it had not +been for Pola. The hurricane had blown off all the young nuts from the +cocoanut palms and the fruit from the breadfruit trees, while the taro +was not yet ripe. We passed the village daily. The chief was my +brother's dear friend; the girls often came up to decorate the place for +a dinner party, but we had no hint of any distress in the village.</p> + +<p>One morning I gave Pola two large ship's biscuits from the pantry.</p> + +<p>"Be not angry," said Pola, "but I prefer to carry these home."</p> + +<p>"Eat them," I said, "and I will give you more."</p> + +<p>Before leaving that night he came to remind me of this. I was swinging +in a hammock reading a novel when Pola came to kiss my hand and bid me +good night.</p> + +<p>"<i>Love</i>," I said, "<i>Talofa</i>."</p> + +<p>"<i>Soifua</i>," Pola replied, "may you sleep;" and then he added, "Be not +angry, but the biscuits——"</p> + +<p>"Are you hungry?" I asked. "Didn't you have your dinner?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, plenty of pea-soupo" (a general name for anything in tins); +"but you said, in your high-chief kindness, that if I ate the two +biscuits you would give me more to take home."</p> + +<p>"And you ate them?"</p> + +<p>He hesitated a perceptible moment, and then said:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I ate them."</p> + +<p>He looked so glowing and sweet, leaning forward to beg a favor, that I +suddenly pulled him to me by his bare, brown shoulders for a kiss. He +fell against the hammock and two large round ship's biscuits slipped +from under his <i>lava-lava</i>.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Pola!" I cried, reproachfully. It cut me to the heart that he +should lie to me.</p> + +<p>He picked them up in silence, repressing the tears that stood in his big +black eyes, and turned to go. I felt there was something strange in +this, one of those mysterious Samoan affairs that had so often baffled +me.</p> + +<p>"I will give you two more biscuits," I said, quietly, "if you will +explain why you told a wicked lie and pained the heart that loved you."</p> + +<p>"Teuila," he cried, anxiously, "I love you. I would not pain your heart +for all the world. But they are starving in the village. My father, the +chief, divides the food, so that each child and old person and all shall +share alike, and today there was only green baked bananas, two for each, +and tonight when I return there will be again a division of one for each +member of the village. It seems hard that I should come here and eat and +eat, and my brother and my two little sisters, and the good Tumau also, +should have only one banana. So I thought I would say to you, 'Behold, I +have eaten the two biscuits,' and then you would give me two more and +that would be enough for one each to my two sisters and Tumau and my +brother, who is older than I."</p> + +<p>That night my brother went down to the village and interviewed the +chief. It was all true, as Pola had said, only they had been too proud +to mention it. Mr. Stevenson sent bags of rice and kegs of beef to the +village, and gave them permission to dig for edible roots in our forest, +so they were able to tide over until the taro and yams were ripe.</p> + +<p>Pola always spoke of Vailima as "our place," and Mr. Stevenson as "my +chief." I had given him a little brown pony that exactly matched his own +skin. A missionary, meeting him in the forest road as he was galloping +along like a young centaur, asked, "Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"I," answered Pola, reining in his pony with a gallant air, "am one of +the Vailima men!"</p> + +<p>He proved, however, that he considered himself a true Samoan by a +conversation we had together once when we were walking down to Apia. We +passed a new house where a number of half-caste carpenters were briskly +at work.</p> + +<p>"See how clever these men are, Pola," I said, "building the white man's +house. When you get older perhaps I will have you taught carpentering, +that you may build houses and make money."</p> + +<p>"Me?" asked Pola, surprised.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied. "Don't you think that would be a good idea?"</p> + +<p>"I am the son of a chief," said Pola.</p> + +<p>"I know," I said, "that your highness is a very great personage, but all +the same it is good to know how to make money. Wouldn't you like to be a +carpenter?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Pola, scornfully, adding, with a wave of his arm that took in +acres of breadfruit trees, banana groves, and taro patches, "Why should +I work? All this land belongs to me."</p> + +<p>Once, when Pola had been particularly adorable, I told him, in a burst +of affection, that he could have anything in the world he wanted, only +begging him to name it.</p> + +<p>He smiled, looked thoughtful for an instant, and then answered, that of +all things in the world, he would like ear-rings, like those the sailors +wear.</p> + +<p>I bought him a pair the next time I went to town. Then, armed with a +cork and a needleful of white silk, I called Pola, and asked if he +wanted the ear-rings badly enough to endure the necessary operation.</p> + +<p>He smiled and walked up to me.</p> + +<p>"Now, this is going to hurt, Pola," I said.</p> + +<p>He stood perfectly straight when I pushed the needle through his ear and +cut off a little piece of silk. I looked anxiously in his face as he +turned his head for me to pierce the other one. I was so nervous that my +hands trembled.</p> + +<p>"Are you <i>sure</i> it does not hurt, Pola, my pigeon?" I asked, and I have +never forgotten his answer.</p> + +<p>"My father is a soldier," he said.</p> + +<p>Pola's dress was a simple garment, a square of white muslin hemmed by +his adopted mother. Like all Samoans, he was naturally very clean, going +with the rest of the "Vailima men" to swim in the waterfall twice a day. +He would wash his hair in the juice of wild oranges, clean his teeth +with the inside husk of the cocoanut, and, putting on a fresh +<i>lava-lava</i>, would wash out the discarded one in the river, laying it +out in the sunshine to dry. He was always decorated with flowers in some +way—a necklace of jessamine buds, pointed red peppers, or the scarlet +fruit of the pandanas. Little white boys looked naked without their +clothes, but Pola in a strip of muslin, with his wreath of flowers, or +sea-shells, some ferns twisted about one ankle, perhaps, or a boar's +tusk fastened to his left arm with strands of horse-hair, looked +completely, even handsomely, dressed.</p> + +<p>He was not too proud to lend a helping hand at any work going—setting +the table, polishing the floor of the hall or the brass handles of the +old cabinet, leading the horses to water, carrying pails for the +milkmen, helping the cook in the kitchen, the butler in the pantry, or +the cowboy in the fields; holding skeins of wool for Mr. Stevenson's +mother, or trotting beside the lady of the house, "Tamaitai," as they +all called her, carrying seeds or plants for her garden. When my brother +went out with a number of natives laden with surveying implements, Pola +only stopped long enough to beg for a cane-knife before he was leading +the party. If Mr. Stevenson called for his horse and started to town it +was always Pola who flew to open the gate for him, waving a "<i>Talofa</i>!" +and "Good luck to the traveling!"</p> + +<p>The Samoans are not reserved, like the Indians, or haughty, like the +Arabs. They are a cheerful, lively people, who keenly enjoy a joke, +laughing at the slightest provocation. Pola bubbled over with fun, and +his voice could be heard chattering and singing gaily at any hour of the +day. He made up little verses about me, which he sang to the graceful +gestures of the Siva or native dance, showing unaffected delight when +commended. He cried out with joy and admiration when he first heard a +hand-organ, and was excitedly happy when allowed to turn the handle. I +gave him a box of tin soldiers, which he played with for hours in my +room. He would arrange them on the floor, talking earnestly to himself +in Samoan.</p> + +<p>"These are brave brown men," he would mutter. "They are fighting for +Mata'afa. Boom! Boom! These are white men. They are fighting the +Samoans. Pouf!" And with a wave of his arm he knocked down a whole +battalion, with the scornful remark, "All white men are cowards."</p> + +<p>After Mr. Stevenson's death so many of his Samoan friends begged for his +photograph that we sent to Sydney for a supply, which was soon +exhausted. One afternoon Pola came in and remarked, in a very hurt and +aggrieved manner, that he had been neglected in the way of photographs.</p> + +<p>"But your father, the chief, has a large fine one."</p> + +<p>"True," said Pola. "But that is not mine. I have the box presented to me +by your high-chief goodness. It has a little cover, and there I wish to +put the sun-shadow of Tusitala, the beloved chief whom we all revere, +but I more than the others because he was the head of my clan."</p> + +<p>"To be sure," I said, and looked about for a photograph. I found a +picture cut from a weekly paper, one I remember that Mr. Stevenson +himself had particularly disliked. He would have been pleased had he +seen the scornful way Pola threw the picture on the floor.</p> + +<p>"I will not have that!" he cried. "It is pig-faced. It is not the shadow +of our chief." He leaned against the door and wept.</p> + +<p>"I have nothing else, Pola," I protested. "Truly, if I had another +picture of Tusitala I would give it to you."</p> + +<p>He brightened up at once. "There is the one in the smoking-room," he +said, "where he walks back and forth. That pleases me, for it looks like +him." He referred to an oil painting of Mr. Stevenson by Sargent. I +explained that I could not give him that. "Then I will take the round +one," he said, "of tin." This last was the bronze <i>bas-relief</i> by St. +Gaudens. I must have laughed involuntarily, for he went out deeply hurt. +Hearing a strange noise in the hall an hour or so later, I opened the +door, and discovered Pola lying on his face, weeping bitterly.</p> + +<p>"What <i>are</i> you crying about?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"The shadow, the shadow," he sobbed. "I want the sun-shadow of +Tusitala."</p> + +<p>I knocked at my mother's door across the hall, and at the sight of that +tear-stained face her heart melted, and he was given the last photograph +we had, which he wrapped in a banana-leaf, tying it carefully with a +ribbon of grass.</p> + +<p>We left Samoa after Mr. Stevenson's death, staying away for more than a +year. Pola wrote me letters by every mail in a large round hand, but +they were too conventional to bear any impress of his mind. He referred +to our regretted separation, exhorting me to stand fast in the +high-chief will of the Lord, and, with his love to each member of the +family, mentioned by name and title, he prayed that I might live long, +sleep well, and not forget Pola, my unworthy servant.</p> + +<p>When we returned to Samoa we were up at dawn, on shipboard, watching the +horizon for the first faint cloud that floats above the island of Upulu. +Already the familiar perfume came floating over the waters—that sweet +blending of many odors, of cocoanut-oil and baking breadfruit, of +jessamine and gardenia. It smelt of home to us, leaning over the rail +and watching. First a cloud, then a shadow growing more and more +distinct until we saw the outline of the island. Then, as we drew +nearer, the deep purple of the distant hills, the green of the rich +forests, and the silvery ribbons where the waterfalls reflect the +sunshine.</p> + +<p>Among the fleet of boats skimming out to meet us was one far ahead of +the others, a lone canoe propelled by a woman, with a single figure +standing in the prow. As the steamer drew near I made out the figure of +Pola, dressed in wreaths and flowers in honor of my return. As the +anchor went down in the bay of Apia and the custom-house officer started +to board, I called out, begging him to let the child come on first. He +drew aside. The canoe shot up to the gangway, and Pola, all in his +finery of fresh flowers, ran up the gangway and stepped forth on the +deck. The passengers drew back before the strange little figure, but he +was too intent upon finding me to notice them.</p> + +<p>"Teuila!" he cried, joyfully, with the tears rolling down his cheeks. I +went forward to meet him, and, kneeling on the deck, caught him in my +arms.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="LOVE_AND_ADVERTISING" id="LOVE_AND_ADVERTISING"></a><a href="#toc">LOVE AND ADVERTISING</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">RICHARD WALTON TULLY</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>The Cosmopolitan Magazine</i> of April, 1906 by permission</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/i.jpg" alt="I" /></span> DO NOT demand," said Mr. Pepper, "I simply suggest a change. If you +wish me to resign"—his self-deprecatory manner bespoke an impossible +supposition—"very well. But, if you see fit to find me a new +assistant——" He paused, with an interrogatory cough.</p> + +<p>It was the senior partner who answered, "We shall consider the matter."</p> + +<p>The advertising manager's lean face took on an expression of +satisfaction. He bowed and disappeared through the door.</p> + +<p>Young Kaufmann, the junior partner, smiled covertly. But the elder man's +face bespoke keen disappointment. For it must be explained that Mr. +Pepper's simple announcement bore vitally upon the only dissension that +had ever visited the firm of Kaufmann & Houghton during the thirty years +of its existence.</p> + +<p>In 1875, when John Houghton, fresh from college, had come to New York to +find his fortune, the elder Kaufmann had been a candy manufacturer with +a modest trade on the East Side. Young Houghton had taken the agency of +a glucose firm. The disposal of this product had brought the two +together, with the result that a partnership had been formed to carry +on a wholesale confectionery business. Success in this venture had led +to new and more profitable fields—the chewing-gum trade.</p> + +<p>The rise to wealth of these two was the result of the careful plodding +of the German workman, who kept the "K. & H." products up to an +unvarying standard, joined with the other's energy and acumen in +marketing the output. And this mutual relation had been disturbed by but +one difference. When Houghton was disposed to consider a college man for +a vacancy, Kaufmann had always been ready with his "practical man dot +has vorked hiss vay." And each time, in respect to his wishes, Houghton +had given in, reflecting that perhaps (as Kaufmann said) it had been +that he, himself, was a good business man in spite of his college +training, not because of it; and, after all, college ideals had sunk +since <i>his</i> time. And the college applicant had been sent away.</p> + +<p>Young Johann Kaufmann graduated from grammar school. Houghton suggested +high school and college.</p> + +<p>"Vat? Nein!" said the elder Kaufmann. "I show him how better the gum to +make."</p> + +<p>And he did. He put on an apron as of yore and started his son under his +personal supervision in the washing-room. He took off his apron when +Johann knew all about handling chicle products, from importing-bag to +tin-foil wrapper. Then he died.</p> + +<p>And this year troublesome conditions had come on. The Consolidated +Pepsin people were cutting in severely. Orders for the great specialty +of K. & H.—"Old Tulu"—had fallen. Something had to be done.</p> + +<p>Houghton, now senior partner, had proposed, and young Kaufmann agreed, +that an advertising expert be secured. But the agreement ended there. +For the first words of the junior partner showed Houghton that the +spirit of the father was still sitting at that desk opposite, and +smiling the same fat, phlegmatic smile at his supposed weakness for +"dose college bitzness."</p> + +<p>They had compromised upon Mr. Pepper, secured from Simpkins' Practical +Advertising School. But at the end of six months, Pepper's so-called +"follow-up campaign" had failed to meet materially the steady inroads of +the western men. He had explained that it was the result of his need of +an assistant. It was determined to give him one.</p> + +<p>Then, one night as he sat in his library, John Houghton had looked into +a pair of blue eyes and promised to "give Tom Brainard the chance." In +consequence he had had his hair tousled, been given a resounding kiss +and a crushing hug from the young lady on his knees. For Dorothy +Houghton, despite her nineteen years, still claimed that privilege from +her father.</p> + +<p>In that way, for the first time, a college man had come into the employ +of K. & H., and been made the assistant of Mr. Pepper at the salary he +demanded—"any old thing to start the ball rolling."</p> + +<p>And now had come the information that the senior partner's long-desired +experiment had ended in failure.</p> + +<p>Young Kaufmann turned to his work with the air of one who has given a +child its own way and seen it come to grief.</p> + +<p>"I—I suppose," Houghton said slowly, "we'll have to let Brainard go."</p> + +<p>And then a peculiar thing happened. Through the open window, floating in +the summer air, he seemed to see a familiar figure. It was dressed in +fluffy white, and carried a parasol over its shoulders. It fluttered +calmly in, seated itself on the sill, and gazed at him with blue eyes +that were serious, reproachful.</p> + +<p>"Daddy!" it said, and it brushed away a wisp of hair by its ear—just as +another one, long ago, had used to. "Daddy!" it faltered. "Why did I ask +you to give him the place, if it wasn't because—because——"</p> + +<p>The spell was broken by Kaufmann's voice. "Whatefer you do, I am +sooted," he was saying. It might have been his father. "But if w'at +Pepper says about Brainard——"</p> + +<p>The senior partner straightened up and pushed a button. "Yes. But We +haven't heard what Brainard says about Pepper."</p> + +<p>Several moments later Tom Brainard entered. Medium-sized and muscular, +he was dressed in a loose-fitting suit that by its very cut told his +training. He stood between them as Mr. Pepper had done, but there was +nothing of the other's ingratiating deference in his level look.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Brainard," said Houghton. The newcomer did so, and the senior +partner marked an attitude of laziness and indifference.</p> + +<p>Houghton became stern. "Brainard," he began, "I gave you a chance with +us because——" He paused.</p> + +<p>The other colored. "I had hoped to make good without that."</p> + +<p>"But this morning Mr. Pepper——"</p> + +<p>"Said we couldn't get along together. That's true."</p> + +<p>"Ah! You admit!" It was Kaufmann.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then Houghton spoke. "I can't tell you how much this +disappoints me, Brainard. The fact is, for years I have tried to shut my +eyes to the development of college training. In my time there was not +the call for practicality that there is today. Yet it seems to me that +the training in our colleges has grown less and less practical. Why do +the colleges turn out men who spend their time in personal gossip over +sport or trivialities?"</p> + +<p>"You remember that the King of Spain—or was it Cambodia—puzzled his +wise men for a year as to why a fish, when dropped into a full pail of +water, didn't make it overflow."</p> + +<p>"What's that got to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Because I must answer as the king did: It's not so—the pail <i>does</i> +overflow. They hadn't thought to try it."</p> + +<p>"You mean that I am wrong."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Are you sure your gossips were 'college men'?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" Houghton made a gesture to his partner, who was about to speak. +"Then let us commence at the root of the matter. Mr. Kaufmann and I have +often discussed the subject. In this case you are the one who has 'tried +it.' Suppose you explain our mistake."</p> + +<p>"I'd be glad to do that," said Brainard, "because I've heard a lot of +that talk."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well—of course when I say 'college man' I mean college graduate."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"If a kitten crawls into an oven, is it a biscuit?"</p> + +<p>There was an earnestness that robbed the question of any flippancy.</p> + +<p>Houghton laughed. "No!"</p> + +<p>"If a dub goes into college and gets flunked out in a month, is he a +college man?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but he calls himself one. He goes to Podunk all decorated up in +geraniums and the rest of his life is a 'college man.' I'm not talking +about him or the man who comes to college to learn to mix +cocktails—inside. He may last to the junior year. I'm talking about the +graduate—they're only about a tenth of the college. But they're the +finished product. Mr. Kaufmann, you wouldn't try to sell gum that had +only gone as far as the rolling-room, would you?"</p> + +<p>"W'at—me?"</p> + +<p>"Would you?"</p> + +<p>"No." The junior partner was puzzled.</p> + +<p>"That's because you want it to go through all the processes. Well, let's +talk only about the boy who has gone all the way through the man +factory."</p> + +<p>Houghton nodded. "That's fair."</p> + +<p>"The trouble is, people don't do that. They persist in butting into the +college world, jerking out some sophomore celebration, and saying, 'What +use is this silly thing in the real world?'"</p> + +<p>"Well, aren't they right?"</p> + +<p>"No. That's just the point. The college world is a mimic world—and your +lifetime is just four years. The sophomore celebration is a practical +thing there; perhaps it's teaching loyalty—that generally comes first. +That's your college rolling-room. But the graduate—he's learned to do +<i>something</i> well. I never knew a college man who wasn't at least +responsible."</p> + +<p>"But——"</p> + +<p>"But here's the trouble: after selecting say two hundred fellows out of +an entering bunch of six hundred, and developing the thing each is best +fitted for, <i>father</i> steps in and the boy who would have made a +first-class professor is put into business and blamed for being +impractical. The fellow who has been handling thousands of dollars in +college management and running twenty assistants—the man who could have +taken the place—has no father to give him the boost necessary, and the +other man's failure has queered his chances. He has to go to work as a +mere clerk under a man—excuse me, I don't want to do any knocking."</p> + +<p>"You think the whole trouble is caused by misdirected nepotism."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Ah——" It was young Kaufmann again. "But you said that you were +trained in advertising on your college paper."</p> + +<p>"Yes—and I was going to tell you today, if Mr. Pepper hadn't, that the +money you're paying for me is utterly wasted."</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I can't look in the face of a hungry designer and beat him down to +within a dollar of the cost of materials. And—and—my suggestions upon +broader lines don't seem to cause much hooray."</p> + +<p>"Well—" the junior partner sat up—"since you admit——" He paused for +his partner to speak the words of discharge.</p> + +<p>But Houghton was looking quizzically at the college man. "What was your +idea as to broader lines?"</p> + +<p>Brainard hesitated. "Well, it seemed to me that Pepper is trying to do +two things that are antagonistic: be <i>'élite'</i> and sell chewing-gum. The +fact is that <i>élite</i> people don't chew gum. I'd like to know how the +statement, 'Old Tulu—Best by Test,' will make a kid on the corner with +a cent in his fist have an attack of mouth-watering."</p> + +<p>Kaufmann roused himself. "It is true. Our gum <i>is</i> the best."</p> + +<p>"I'm not disputing that, but still it's <i>gum</i>. If you're trying to +increase the vulgar habit of gum-chewing—well—you can't do it by +advertising the firm's financial standing, its age, or the purity of its +output. That would do for an insurance company or a bank—but <i>gum</i>! Who +cares for purity! All they want to know is if it <i>schmeckt gut</i>." This +last with a humorous glance at Kaufmann.</p> + +<p>The latter was scowling. Brainard was touching a tender spot.</p> + +<p>"Well, what would you do?"</p> + +<p>Brainard flushed. He felt the tone of sarcasm in the elder man's voice. +He tightened his lips. "At least, I'd change the name of the gum!"</p> + +<p>"Change the name!" Kaufmann was horrified.</p> + +<p>"Well, nobody wants 'Old Tulu.' They want 'New Tulu' or 'Fresh Tasty +Tulu.' At least, something to appeal to the imagination of +Sadie-at-the-ribbon-counter."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" observed Houghton. "And the name you suggest?"</p> + +<p>"Well,—say something like 'Lulu Tulu.'"</p> + +<p>"Gott!" Kaufmann struck the desk a blow with his fist. It was an insult +to his father's memory.</p> + +<p>Brainard rose. "I'm sorry," he said, "if I have offended. To save you +any further bother, I'll just cut it out after Saturday. I—thank you +for the chance"—he smiled a little ruefully—"the chance you have given +me. Good day, gentlemen."</p> + +<p>He turned on his heel and left the office.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>As John Houghton was driven home that night, he became suddenly +conscious that he would soon meet the apparition of the afternoon in the +flesh. And though, of course, there was no need, he found himself +rehearsing the justification of his position. "Lulu Tulu" indeed! +Imagine the smile that would have illumined the faces at the club on +such an announcement. The impudence of the boy to have suggested it to +him—him who had so often held forth upon the value of conservatism in +business! And he remembered with pride the speaker who had once said, +"It is such solid vertebrae as Mr. Houghton that form the backbone of +our business world." That speaker had been Bender, of the New York +Dynamo Company. Poor Bender! The Western Electric Construction had got +him after all.</p> + +<p>This line of thought caused Houghton to reach in his pocket and produce +a letter. He went over the significant part again.</p> + +<p>"Our Mr. Byrnes reports the clinching of the subway vending-machine +contract," it read, "and this, together with our other business, will +give us over half of the New York trade. With this statement before us, +we feel that we can make a winning fight if you still refuse to consider +our terms. In view of recent developments, we cannot repeat our former +offer but if you will consider sixty-seven as a figure——"</p> + +<p>Sixty-seven! And a year before he would not have taken one hundred and +ten! In the bitterness of the moment, he wondered if he, too, would +finally go the way that Bender had.</p> + +<p>And then, as the butler swung the door back, he was recalled to the +matter of Tom Brainard by the sight of a familiar figure that floated +toward him as airily as had its astral self that afternoon.</p> + +<p>He kissed her and went to his study. Just before dinner was not a time +to discuss such things. But later, as he looked across the candelabra at +his daughter, all smiles and happiness in that seat that had been her +mother's, he regretted that he had not, for——</p> + +<p>"Daddy," Dorothy was saying, "I got such a funny note from Tom this +afternoon. He says there has been a change at the office and that you +will explain."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well——?" She paused eagerly. "It's something awfully good—I know."</p> + +<p>Her father frowned and caught her eye. "Later," he said significantly.</p> + +<p>The girl read the tone, and the gaiety of the moment before was gone. +After that they ate in silence.</p> + +<p>One cigar—two cigars had been smoked when she stole into the library. +Since coffee (whether from design or chance he never knew), she had +rearranged her hair. Now it was low on her neck in a fashion of long +ago, with a single curl that strayed over a white shoulder to her bosom. +She knelt at his side without a word.</p> + +<p>He looked down at her. Somehow he had never seen her like this +before—that curious womanly expression.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," was all she said.</p> + +<p>And, as he told Tom Brainard's failure to fit in, he watched her +closely. "I'm sorry," he concluded.</p> + +<p>"So am I, daddy," she returned steadily; "because I am going to marry +him."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you knew—you must have," she said, "when I asked you to give him +the chance."</p> + +<p>The father was silent. In fancy he again heard Dolly Warner promising, +against her parents' advice, to wait for her John to "get on in the +world."</p> + +<p>"Well?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Do you think you've given him a fair chance?"</p> + +<p>He was restored to his usual poise. "I suppose he complained that I +didn't."</p> + +<p>Dorothy's eyes went wide. "No, he said that after I had heard the news +from you, he would leave everything to me."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"But, father, I don't think you <i>have</i> been fair. Tom is right. <i>I</i> +don't chew gum, do I?"</p> + +<p>"Well——" He was indignant. Then he stopped thoughtfully. "No."</p> + +<p>"But Mary downstairs does. She wouldn't be offended at 'Lulu Tulu.' I +dare say she'd think it 'just grand.'"</p> + +<p>He returned no answer.</p> + +<p>"Come, daddy," she went on. "New York has grown lots—even since I was +little. And—and some people get behind the times. They think they're +being dignified when it's only that they're antiquated."</p> + +<p>He looked shrewdly at her. "I never heard you talk like that before. +Where did you——"</p> + +<p>"Tom said that a week ago," she admitted. "And he said, too, that he +could double the results if he only had full swing. Instead, you admit +he's a mere clerk for that horrid Pepper. Oh, daddy, daddy," she +pleaded. "Give him a chance." Then her voice went low again. "I'm going +to marry him anyway," she said, "and you don't want this between. If he +fails, I'll stand the loss from what mother left me. Give him full +swing—a real chance, daddy! He's going to be—<i>your son</i>."</p> + +<p>John Houghton looked into the earnest girlish face. He wound the curl +about his finger. "Kaufmann has always wanted to visit the Fatherland," +he said irrelevantly.</p> + +<p>She gave a quick, eager look. "And that Pepper could go on a vacation."</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>Days drag very slowly at a summer resort, especially when one has +promised not to write to him. But Dorothy's father had kept his word, so +she could but do the same. Behind, in the sweltering city, in full +charge for six weeks was Tom Brainard. His authority included permission +to invent and use any new labels or trade-marks he saw fit.</p> + +<p>The girl at the seashore, however, was also busy—amusing her father +that he might not give too much time to thinking. And then, when three +of the six weeks had passed, came the accident to the motor car.</p> + +<p>She was told that with rest and no worries, her father would recover in +a week or two. She cheerfully fitted into the rôle of assistant to the +nurse in charge, and, as soon as the doctor allowed, prepared to read +his mail to him as he lay, eyes and head bandaged. But as she opened and +glanced over the accumulated letters, she suddenly went pale. She read +one in particular from end to end, and then, with a scared, furtive look +at the bandaged figure, slipped it into a pocket.</p> + +<p>Later, when her father had finished dictating to her, she answered the +concealed letter herself.</p> + +<p>Again the days drifted. The bandages were removed; but still the girl +continued to scan the mail. Her vigilance was rewarded. She flushed over +a second letter which, with one in a worn envelope, she took to her +father.</p> + +<p>He saw the careworn expression. "My little girl has been overworking," +he said.</p> + +<p>She held out the worn letter. "I've had this for some time—but—but I +waited for something more, and here it is." She showed the other.</p> + +<p>He took the first, and when he had finished, his hand was trembling.</p> + +<p>"I regret to report that things are in a chaos," it ran. "All of the +regular advertising has been withdrawn. The usual entertainment money +for salesmen classed under this head has been stopped. In consequence, +our city trade has tumbled fearfully—and you know how bad it was +before. The worst news I have to offer is in regard to Mr. Brainard +personally. Our detective reports that his time outside is spent in most +questionable company. He has been seen drinking at roof-gardens with a +certain dissipated pugilist named Little Sullivan, and was traced with +this man to the apartment of a song-and-dance woman named Violette. He +seems to be spending money extravagantly and visits certain bohemian +quarters in the vicinity of Jones Street, where he puts in his time with +disreputable-looking men. I beg leave to advise immediate +action.—Mowbray."</p> + +<p>"My God!" groaned Houghton. This explained that derisive offer of +fifty-one from Consolidated Pepsin.</p> + +<p>"And you kept this from me?"</p> + +<p>"They said not to worry you," she said. "I—I've had enough for two. +Besides, I answered it."</p> + +<p>"You did! What——?"</p> + +<p>"I told them to wait a little longer."</p> + +<p>The father groaned again.</p> + +<p>"I just <i>had</i> to, daddy; and then today this letter came."</p> + +<p>He seized it eagerly. It read: "You were right about waiting. Suspend +all action."</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"We'll find out tomorrow," he answered grimly.</p> + +<p>The 4:30 train gave John Houghton just time to reach the office before +it closed. Dorothy went home. Her father, roused by the evil news of the +day before, had impressed her with all that it might mean in a material +way. As though that mattered!—as though anything could hurt her more! +She would have been willing to go with Tom Brainard in rags before—but +now!</p> + +<p>She sat by the telephone with clenched fists, her traveling veil still +pushed up on her hat, the lines that had come into her face during the +past week deepening with the dusk. At last—a long, sharp ring! +"Yes—father—not dine at home—meet you at the Yolland—a guest. +Yes—but about Tom—what?—7:30—But about Tom, daddy? Good-by?!! But, +daddy!!!"</p> + +<p>It was no use. He had hung up. She called feverishly for the office, but +the reply was, "They do not answer." Mechanically she went up to her +room. "The blue mousseline, Susan," she said.</p> + +<p>As the maid laid it out, she walked the floor. Through the window the +park lay green and inviting. She longed to fly to the cool grass and +run—and run——</p> + +<p>From below came the loud, rasping notes of a street-piano that, in some +incomprehensible fashion, had wandered to the deserted row of houses. +The noise, for all that there was a pleasing swing to the air, irritated +her. She threw the man a quarter. "Go away," she waved.</p> + +<p>At last the maid said her mistress was ready, and Dorothy, without +questioning the decision, allowed herself to be put into the brougham.</p> + +<p>The drive seemed hours long, and then—her father's face told her +nothing. Without a word, he led her to a reception-room. As they +entered, a figure sprang to meet them.</p> + +<p>For a moment she hesitated. Then, "Tom!" she cried, and caught his hand.</p> + +<p>He saw the whiteness of her face, and all the yearnings of their +separation matched it upon his.</p> + +<p>"Dorothy!" he faltered.</p> + +<p>Her father interrupted. "Tom is to explain how he has quadrupled our +business in the last week."</p> + +<p>A sudden weakness seized her. She followed them unsteadily. Seated at a +table, however, she was able to smile again. At that moment, the +orchestra, striking up, suddenly caught her attention. +"Tum—tum-tum—tum-tum—tum"—that haunting, swinging melody of the +street-piano.</p> + +<p>"What tune is that?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Brainard smiled. "<i>That</i> is a tune that has suddenly become popular. Any +night you may see hundreds of East Side children dancing on the asphalt +and singing it."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "I heard it on a street-piano."</p> + +<p>"It's called," he went on, '"My Lulu Tulu Girl.' All the grinders have +it. Billy Tompkins, Noughty-three, who lives in the Jones Street social +settlement, worked that for me. Those dagoes worship him—saved a kid's +life or something."</p> + +<p>A light came into John Houghton's eyes.</p> + +<p>"That's part of the scheme. Aspwell wrote the song. I found him down in +bohemia working on an opera. But, for the sake of old days in the senior +extravaganza, he turned off 'My Lulu Tulu Girl.' You know those orders +on your desk are for our new brand, 'Lulu Tulu.' The song was +introduced two weeks ago at the Metropolitan Roof by Violette, a young +lady who married our old football trainer, Little Sullivan. We'll hear +her later—I have tickets. Then we'll go to Leith's; there's a turn +there by 'Jim Bailey and his Six Lulu Tulu Girls'—rather vulgar (while +they dance they chew the gum and perform calisthenics with it) but it +seems to go. Then——"</p> + +<p>"Tom!"</p> + +<p>"After we've dined, I'll show you our regular magazine and newspaper +advertising in the reading-room—double space. You see, I couldn't ask +you to increase, so I stopped it for a time and saved up. But I hope +you'll stand for it regularly. It's mainly pictures of Miss. Lulu Tulu +in a large Florodora hat, with verses below apostrophizing the poetry of +motion of her jaws. Then there's a line of limericks about the +adventures of the 'Lulu Tulu Gummies'—small gum-headed tykes—always in +trouble until they find Lulu. I got Phillips to do that as a personal +favor."</p> + +<p>"Also Noughty-something, I suppose," remarked Houghton.</p> + +<p>"Yes. But he graduated before my time. I knew his work in the college +annual. He's in the magazines now. Then I got Professor Wheaton—'Jimmy +the Grind' we used to call him—his folks wanted him to be a +poet—imagine Jimmy a poet!—I got Professor Wheaton to give us some +readers on 'Tulu as a Salivary Stimulant,' 'The Healthful Effect of Pure +Saliva on Food Products' and 'The Degenerative Effect of Artificially +Relieving an Organ of its Proper Functions.' That hits the Pepsin +people, you see——"</p> + +<p>And so it ran—until he had covered his plan fully, and Dorothy's face +with happy smiles.</p> + +<p>"Tom," said the father, "if I had opened that letter instead of Dolly!"</p> + +<p>Dorothy suddenly became demure under their gaze and sought to change the +subject. "Then you admit, daddy, that a college man is of some use?"</p> + +<p>"I'll admit that Tom got the business. But that was because he is +naturally clever and business-like, not because——"</p> + +<p>"Just a moment," said Brainard. "I think I can show that you're +mistaken. I found out that Pepper was doing the wrong thing—by the +first rule of criticism (freshman English): 'What is the author trying +to do? Does he do it? Is it worth doing?' Substitute 'advertising man' +for 'author' and you have a business that is worth doing (since you +continue it)—and by the other two questions I saw his incongruity of +subject-matter and expression.' My economics taught me the 'law of +supply and demand.' 'Analytical research of original authorities' taught +me where the demand was. There was only the problem of a cause to +stimulate it. Through deductive logic' and 'psychology' I got the cause +that would appeal, and the effect worked out in an increased demand +which we were ready to supply—just like a problem in math."</p> + +<p>The elder man smiled. "I don't understand a word you say, but it seems +to have <i>worked</i> well. In the future, bring in as many of your Noughty +friends as we need. I'll answer for Kaufmann."</p> + +<p>The other shook his head. "I'm not sure they would be any too anxious."</p> + +<p>Houghton gasped in surprise. "What's that—they wouldn't be anxious to +go into <i>business</i>! Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" There was equal amazement in the younger man's tone. "Would +you be anxious to leave a place where you're surrounded by friends +you've tried—friends that won't stab you in the back the next minute +and call it a 'business deal'—where you're respected and in control of +things, and plunge out to become a freshman in the world-life, to do the +sorting and trying all over again?"</p> + +<p>"I remember—I remember——"</p> + +<p>"And besides, what right has any one to assume that <i>business</i> is above +art, charity or even mere learning? Billy Tompkins, in the slums helping +dagoes, is a failure to his father—so is Aspwell with his opera—so is +Williams with his spectacles in his lab. But—who knows—when the Great +Business is finally balanced——" He stopped, conscious that he was +growing too rhetorical.</p> + +<p>"If you loved college ideals so much more than business," observed +Houghton, "then why did you come to us?"</p> + +<p>A different light stole into the younger man's eyes. "Because"—he +answered, "because I loved something else better than either." And he +reached his hand under the cloth to one who understood.</p> + +<p>That is all—except that the next offer of Consolidated Pepsin was, +"Will you please name your own terms?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/header.jpg" alt="header" width="60%" /></p> +<h2><a name="THE_TEWANA" id="THE_TEWANA"></a><a href="#toc">THE TEWANA</a></h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">HERMAN WHITAKER</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/medallion.jpg" alt="medallion" width="15%" /></p> + +<p class="center">Reprinted from <i>The Blue Mule</i> <i>A Western Magazine of Stories</i>, of +February, 1906 by permission</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="n"><span class="fl"><img src="images/s.jpg" alt="S" /></span>HE WAS a Tewana of the Tehuantepec Isthmus, a primal woman, +round-armed, deep-breasted, shapely as the dream on which Canova modeled +Venus. Her skin was of the rich gold hue that marks the blood unmuddied +by Spanish strain; to see her, poised on a rich hip by the river's +brink, wringing her tresses after the morning bath, it were justifiable +to mistake her for some beautiful bronze. Moreover, it were easy to see +her, for, in Tehuantepec, innocence is thoughtless as in old Eden. When +Paul Steiner passed her one morning, she gave him the curious open-eyed +stare of a deer, bade him a pleasant "<i>Buenos días, Señor!</i>" and would +have proceeded, undisturbed, with her toilet, but that he spoke. In this +he was greatly mistaken. Gringos there are—praise the saints!—who can +judge Tehuantepec by the insight of kindred purity, but Paul had to +learn by the more uncomfortable method of a stone in the face.</p> + +<p>He ought not, however, to be too severely handled for his dulness. +Though a mining engineer, nature had endowed him with little beyond the +algebraic qualities necessary to the profession; a German-American, a +dull birth and heredity had predestined him for that class which clothes +its morality in fusty black and finds safety in following its neighbor +in the cut of its clothes and conduct. As then, he was not planned for +original thinking, it is not at all surprising that he should—when +pitchforked by Opportunity into the depths of tropical jungles—lose his +moral bearings, fail to recognize a virtue that went in her own golden +skin, and so go down before a temptation that, of old, populated the +sexless desert.</p> + +<p>That his error continued in the face of Andrea's stone is certainly more +remarkable, though this also should be charged rather against her +mismarksmanship than to the wearing quality of his electro-plate +morality. It is doubtful if even the ancient Jews had found "stoning" as +efficacious a "cure for souls" had they thrown wide as she. Anyway, Paul +stood "unconvicted," as the revivalists have it, and being moved to +chagrin instead of shame, he carried the story of Andrea's surprising +modesty to Bachelder.</p> + +<p>Here was a man of other parts. An artist, he had traced the spinning +meridians over desert and sea, following the fluttering wing of the muse +till she rewarded his deathless hope by pausing for him in this small +Indian town. Expecting to stay a week, he had remained fifteen years, +failing to exhaust in that long time a tithe of its form and color. +Screened by tropical jungle, a mask of dark palms laced with twining +<i>bejucas</i>, it sat like a wonderfully blazoned cup in a wide green saucer +that was edged with the purple of low environing hills—a brimming cup +of inspiration. Save where some oaken grill supplied an ashen note, its +adobe streets burned in smoldering rose, purple and gold—the latter +always predominant. It glowed in the molten sunlight, shone in the soft +satin of a woman's skin; the very dust rose in auriferous clouds from +the wooden-wheeled ox-carts. But for its magenta tiling, the pillared +market stood, a huge monochrome, its deep yellows splashed here and +there with the crimson of the female hucksters' dresses. This was their +every-day wear—a sleeveless bodice, cut low over the matchless +amplitudes and so short that the smooth waist showed at each uplift of +the round, bronze arms; a skirt that was little more than a cloth wound +about the limbs; a shawl, all of deep blood color. Small wonder that he +had stayed on, and on, and on, while the weeks merged into months, and +months into years.</p> + +<p>He lived in the town's great house, an old feudal hacienda with walls +two yards thick, recessed windows oaken grilled, and a pleasant patio +where the hidalgo could take his ease under cocoanut palms and lemon +trees while governments went to smash without. Here Bachelder was always +to be found in the heat of the day, and here he listened with huge +disgust to Paul's story. Because of their faith, strength and +purity—according to their standards—he had always sworn by the Tewana +women, setting them above all others, and though a frank sinner against +accepted moral codes, he would never have confused nudity with vice.</p> + +<p>"Man!" he exclaimed—so loudly that Rosa, his housekeeper, imagined that +something was going wrong again with the painting—"Man! all the dollars +you will ever earn would buy nothing more than her stone! If you want +her, you will have to marry her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't look so chopfallen!" he went on, scornfully, when Paul +blinked. "I mean marriage as she counts it. You will have to court her +for a couple of months—flowers, little gifts, small courtesies, that +sort of thing; then, if she likes you, she will come and keep your +house. When, later, you feel like settling down in the bosom of +respectability, there won't be a shred of law to hold you."</p> + +<p>Now if Paul lacked wit to analyze and apply to his own government a +moral law that has evolved from the painful travail of the generations, +it does not follow that he was too stupid to feel irony. Reddening, he +put forth the usual declaimer of honorable intention with the glib +tongue of passion. He meant well by the girl! Would give her a good +home, find her better than she had ever been found in her life! As for +marrying? He was not of the marrying kind! Never would! and so on, +finishing with a vital question—did Bachelder know where she lived?</p> + +<p>His color deepened under the artist's sarcastic glance. "So that's what +you're after? I wondered why you picked me for a father confessor. Well, +I don't, but you won't have any trouble in finding her. All the women +sell something; she's sure to be on the market in the morning. You will +get her quite easily. The girls seem to take pride in keeping a Gringo's +house—I don't know why, unless it be that they are so dazzled by the +things we have that they cannot see us for what we are."</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>A thousand crimson figures were weaving in and out the market's chrome +pillars when Paul entered next morning, but though it was hard to single +one person from the red confusion, luck led him almost immediately to +where Andrea stood, a basket of tortillas at her feet. Lacking +customers, just then, she leaned against a pillar, her scarlet flaming +against its chrome, thoughtful, pensive, as Bachelder painted her for +"The Enganchada," the girl sold for debt. Her shawl lay beside her +basket, so her hair, that had flown loose since the morning bath, fell +in a cataract over the polished amplitudes of bosom and shoulders. Save +when feeling shot them with tawny flashes—as waving branches filter +mottled sunlight on brown waters—her eyes were dark as the pools of +Lethe, wherein men plunge and forget the past. They brought +forgetfulness to Paul of his moral tradition, racial pride, the +carefully conned apology which he did not remember until, an hour later, +he fed her entire stock in trade to his dog. It was better so. Black, +brown or white women are alike sensitive to the language of flowers, and +the lilies he left in her basket served him more sweetly than could his +stammering tongue. Next morning, curiosity replaced hostility in her +glance, and when he left the market, her brown gaze followed him beyond +the portals. Needs not, however, to linger over the courtship. +Sufficient that color of skin does not affect the feminine trait that +forgiveness comes easier when the offense was provoked by one's own +beauty; the story goes on from the time that Andrea moved into his house +with a stock of household gear that extorted musical exclamations from +all her girl friends.</p> + +<p>To their housekeeping Andrea contributed only her handsome body with a +contained cargo of unsuspected qualities and virtues that simply +dazzled Paul as they cropped out upon the surface. In public a Tewana +bears herself staidly, carrying a certain dignity of expression that of +itself reveals how, of old, her forbears came to place limits to the +ambition of the conquering Aztec and made even Spanish dominion little +more than an uncomfortable name. Though, through courtship, Andrea's +stern composure had shown no trace of a thaw, it yet melted like snow +under a south wind when she was once ensconced in their little home. +Moreover, she unmasked undreamed of batteries, bewildering Paul with +infinite variety of feminine complexities. She would be arch, gay, +saucy, and in the next breath fall into one of love's warm silences, +watching him with eyes of molten bronze. She taught him the love of the +tropics without transcending modesty. Also she astonished him, +negatively, by the absence of those wide differences of nature and +feeling between her and the cultured women of his own land that reading +in the primal school of fiction had led him to expect. He learned from +her that woman is always woman under any clime or epoch. The greater +strength of her physique lessened, perhaps, the vine-like tendency, yet +she clung sufficiently to satisfy the needs of his masculinity; and she +displayed the feminine unreason, at once so charming and irritating, +with sufficient coquetry to freshen her love. Her greatest charm, +however, lay in the dominant quality of brooding motherhood, the +birthright of primal women and the very essence of femininity. After one +of those sweet silences, she would steal on him from behind, and pull +his head to her bosom with such a squeeze as a loving mother gives her +son.</p> + +<p>Yet, under even this mood, her laughter lay close to the surface, and +nothing tapped its merry flow quicker than Paul's Spanish. Picking up +the language haphazard, he had somehow learned to apply the verb +<i>tumblar</i> to describe the pouring out of coffee, and he clung to it +after correction with a persistence that surely inhered in his dogged +German blood. "<i>Tumbarlo el café</i>!" he would say, and she would repeat +it, faithfully mimicking his accent.</p> + +<p>"Tumble out the coffee!" following it with peals of laughter. Or, +turning up a saucy face, she would ask, "Shall I tumble out more +coffee?" and again the laughter which came as readily at her own misfit +attempts at English.</p> + +<p>These, few and simple, were learned of Bachelder's woman, and sprung on +Paul as surprises on his return from visiting the mining properties, +which required his frequent presence. For instance, slipping to his knee +on one such occasion, with the great heart of her pulsing against him, +she sighed: "I love thee, lovest thou me?"</p> + +<p>A lesson from Bachelder pleased him less. Knowing Paul's pride in his +German ancestry, and having been present when, in seasons of swollen +pride, he had reflected invidiously in Andrea's presence on Mexico and +all things Mexican, the artist, in a wicked moment, taught her to lisp +"<i>Hoch der Kaiser</i>!" <i>lèse-majesté</i> that almost caused Paul a +fainting-fit.</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't have taught her that," he said to Bachelder. But the +mischief was done. Whenever, thereafter, through torment of insect or +obsession of national pride, he animadverted on her country, she +silenced him with the treasonable expression.</p> + +<p>She learned other than English from Bachelder's woman, sweating out the +dog days in Rosa's kitchen, experimenting with the barbaric dishes +Gringos love. She slaved for his comfort, keeping his linen, her house +and self so spotlessly clean that as Paul's passion waned, affection +grew up in its place—the respectful affection that, at home, would have +afforded a permanent basis for a happy marriage. When, a year later, +their baby came, no northern benedict could have been more proudly +happy.</p> + +<p>Watching him playing with the child, Bachelder would wonder if his union +also would terminate like all the others of his long experience. In her, +for it was a girl baby, Paul's fairness worked out, as she grew, in +marvelous delicacies of cream and rose, weaving, moreover, a golden woof +through the brown of her hair. From her mother she took a lithe +perfection of form. At two she was well started for a raving beauty, and +as much through his love for her as for Andrea, Paul had come, like +Bachelder, to swear by the Tewana women.</p> + +<p>He might have been swearing by them yet, but his company's business +suddenly called him north, and no man could have bidden a white wife +more affectionate farewell or have been more sure of his own return. "It +is a comfort to know that your woman won't go gadding while you are +away, and that is more than a fellow can make sure of at home." These +were his last words to Bachelder.</p> + +<p>He was to be absent two months, but after he had reported adversely on a +mine in Sonora, he was ordered to expert a group in far Guerrera, where +the mountains turn on edge and earth tosses in horrible tumult. Then +came a third order to report in New York for personal conference. Thus +the months did sums in simple addition while Andrea waited, serenely +confident of his return. Not that she lacked experience of deserted +wives, or based hope on her own attractions. Her furious mother love +simply could not form, much less harbor, the possibility of Paul's +deserting their pretty Lola.</p> + +<p>And, barring her loneliness, the year was kind to her, feeding her +mother love with small social triumphs. For one, Lola was chosen to sit +with three other tots, the most beautiful of Tewana's children, at the +feet of the Virgin in the Theophany of the "Black Christ" at the eastern +fiesta. From morning to mirk midnight, it was a hard vigil. By day the +vaulted church reeked incense; by night a thousand candles guttered +under the dark arches, sorely afflicting small, weary eyelids; yet Lola +sat it out like a small thoroughbred, earning thereby the priest's +kindly pat and her mother's devoted worship.</p> + +<p>Then, on her third saint day, the small girl donned her first fiesta +costume, a miniature of the heirlooms which descend from mother to +daughter, each generation striving to increase the magnificence of the +costume just as it strove to add to the gold pieces in the chain which +did triple duty as hoard, dowry and necklace. Andrea subtracted several +English sovereigns from her own to start Lola's, and, with the American +gold eagle, the gift of Bachelder, her <i>padrino</i>, godfather, they made +an affluent beginning for so small a girl. As for the costume? Its silk, +plush, velours, were worked by Andrea's clever fingers curiously and +wondrously, even when judged by difficult Tewana standards. Bachelder +painted the small thing, kneeling by her mother's side before the great +gold altar. Her starched skirt, with its band of red velours, stands of +itself leveling her head, so that she looks for all the world like a +serious cherub peering out from a wonderfully embroidered bath-cabinet. +But ah! the serious devotion of the faces! The muse Bachelder had +followed so faithfully was hovering closely when his soul flamed out +upon that canvas. It ranks with his "Enganchada." Either would bring him +fame, yet they rest, face to face, in a dusty locker, awaiting the day +when time or death shall cure the ache that a glimpse of either brings +him.</p> + +<p>Two months after that canvas was put away, eighteen counting from the +day of his departure, Bachelder walked, one day, down to the primitive +post-office to see if the mail that was due from the little fishing port +of Salina Cruz contained aught for him. <i>Waded</i> would better describe +his progress, for it was the middle of the rains; water filled the air, +dropping in sheets from a livid sky; the streets were rivers running +full over the cobble curbs. Such white planters as came in occasionally +from the jungle country had been housefast upon their plantations for +this month, and, having the town pretty much to himself, the artist's +thought turned naturally to Paul, who used to bring doubtful mitigation +to his isolation.</p> + +<p>He had written the artist twice, but now six months had elapsed since +the last letter. "He'll never come back," the artist muttered. "Poor +Andrea! But it is better—now."</p> + +<p>Warm with the pity the thought inspired, he turned the corner into the +street that led to the post-office, and was almost run down by the first +mule of a train that came driving through the rain.</p> + +<p>"Bachelder!" the rider cried.</p> + +<p>It was surely Paul. Pulling up his beast, he thrust a wet hand from +under his rain poncha, then, turning in his saddle, he spoke to the +woman who rode behind him, "Ethel, this is Mr. Bachelder."</p> + +<p>The alternative had happened! As a small hand thrust back the hood of +mackintosh, Bachelder found himself staring at a sweet face, while an +equally sweet greeting was drowned by echoing questions in his mind. +"Good God!" he first thought. "Why did he bring her here?" And upon that +immediately followed, "How ever did he get her?"</p> + +<p>An evening spent with the pair at the small Mexican hotel increased his +wonder. Pleasant, pretty, of a fine sensibility and intellectual without +loss of femininity, the girl would have been fitly mated with a man of +the finest clay. How could she have married Paul? Bachelder thought, and +correctly, that he discerned the reason in a certain warmth of romantic +feeling that tinged her speech and manner. Daughter of an Episcopal +clergyman in Paul's native town, she had sighed for something different +from the humdrum of small teas, dinners, parochial calls, and when Paul +came to her with the glamour of tropical travel upon him, she married, +mistaking the glamour for him.</p> + +<p>"She loved me for the dangers I had passed!" the artist mused, quoting +Shakespeare, on his way home. "What a tragedy when she discovers him for +a spurious Othello!"</p> + +<p>Dropping into the studio next morning, Paul answered the other question. +"Why not?" he asked, with a touch of ancestral stolidity. "My work is +here. Andrea?" His next words plainly revealed that while his moral +plating had cracked and peeled under tropical heat, the iron convention +beneath had held without fracture. He began: "It was a beastliness that +we committed——"</p> + +<p>"That <i>you</i> committed," Bachelder sharply corrected. "And what of the +child?"</p> + +<p>Blinking in the old fashion, Paul went on, "I was coming to that. She +cannot be allowed to grow up a little Mexican. I shall adopt her and +have her properly educated." Here he looked at Bachelder as though +expecting commendation for his honorable intention, and, receiving none, +went on, dilating on his plans for the child as if resolved to earn it. +Yet, setting aside this patent motive, it was easy to see as he warmed +to his subject that Andrea had not erred in counting on Lola to bring +him back. With her beauty she would do any man proud! The whole United +States would not be able to produce her rival! She should have the best +that money could give her!</p> + +<p>Wondering at the curious mixture of class egotism, paternal tenderness +and twisted morality, Bachelder listened to the end, then said, "Of +course, Mrs. Steiner approves of a ready-made family?"</p> + +<p>Paul's proud feathers draggled a little, and he reddened. "Well—you +see—she thinks Lola is the daughter of a dead mining friend. Some day, +of course, I'll tell her. In fact, the knowledge will grow on her. But +not now. It wouldn't do. She couldn't understand."</p> + +<p>"No?" But the quiet sarcasm was wasted on Paul, and the artist +continued, "Aren't you leaving Andrea out of your calculations?"</p> + +<p>Paul ruffled like an angry gobbler. His eyes took on an ugly gleam, his +jaw stuck out, his expression incarnated Teutonic obstinacy. "Oh, she'll +have to be fixed. Luckily it doesn't take much to buy these savage +women; their feelings are all on the surface. I'll give her the house, +furniture, and a hundred dollars cash. That should make up for the loss +of——"</p> + +<p>"——a husband?" Bachelder's face darkened. Throughout the conversation +he had worn an air of suppression, as though holding, by an effort, +something back. Now he straightened with a movement that was analogous +to the flexure of a coiled spring. His lips opened, closed again, and he +went on with his quiet questioning. "For a husband, yes. They are easy +stock to come by. But not for the child of her labor. Supposing she +refuses?"</p> + +<p>Paul's eyes glinted under his frown. "Then the Jefe-Politico earns the +hundred dollars and the law gives her to me."</p> + +<p>The spring uncoiled. "Never! She died a month ago of yellow fever."</p> + +<p>Under Teuton phlegm lies an hysteria that rivals that of the Latin +races. Paul's flame died to ashes and he burst out sobbing, throwing his +hands up and out with ungainly gestures. Looking down upon his awkward +grief, Bachelder half regretted the just anger that caused him to slip +the news like a lightning bolt; he would have felt sorrier but that he +perceived Paul's sorrow rooted in the same colossal egotism that would +have sacrificed the mother on the altars of its vast conceit. He knew +that Paul was grieving for himself, for lost sensations of pride, love +and pleasure that he could never experience again. When the ludicrous +travesty had partly spent itself, he stemmed the tide with a question.</p> + +<p>"If you don't care to see Andrea, I can make the settlements you hinted +at."</p> + +<p>Paul glanced up, stupidly resentful, through his tears. "The child is +dead. That is all off."</p> + +<p>"You will do nothing for her?" As much to prop an opinion of human +nature that was already too low for comfort as in Andrea's interest, +Bachelder asked the question.</p> + +<p>"She has the house furnishings," Paul sullenly answered. "That leaves +her a sight better off than she was before she knew me."</p> + +<p>Rising, the artist walked over to the window. "The river is rising," he +said, when he could trust himself to speak. "Another foot, and away goes +the bridge. When do you go to the mine?"</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Steiner goes with you?"</p> + +<p>"No, too wet."</p> + +<p>Bachelder hesitated. "I'd offer you my quarters, but—you see I am +neither married nor unmarried."</p> + +<p>"No!" Paul agreed with ponderous respectability. "It would never do. +Besides, I've hired a house of the Jefe-Politico; the one that crowns +the Promontory. When the rain slacks we'll move out to the mine."</p> + +<p>"There is one thing I should like," he added as he rose to go. "If you +would have a stone put over the child's grave—something nice—you're a +better judge than me,—I'll——"</p> + +<p>"Too late," the artist interrupted. "Andrea broke up her necklace; put +savings of eighteen generations into the finest tomb in the cemetery." +He looked curiously at Paul, but his was that small order of mind which +persistently fixes responsibility for the most inevitable calamity upon +some person. To the day of his death he would go on taxing the child's +death against Andrea; he did not even comment on this last proof of her +devoted love.</p> + +<p>After he was gone, Bachelder returned to his window, just in time to see +the bridge go. A thin stream in summer, meandering aimlessly between +wide banks, the river now ran a full half-mile wide, splitting the town +with its yeasty race. An annual occurrence, this was a matter of small +moment to the severed halves. Each would pursue the even tenor of its +way till the slack of the rains permitted communication by canoe and the +rebuilding of the bridge. But it had special significance now in that +Andrea lived on the other bank.</p> + +<p>He wondered if the news of Paul's return had crossed, muttering: "Poor +girl, poor girl!" Adding, a moment later: "But happier than the other. +Poor little Desdemona!"</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>How melancholy is the voice of a flood! Its resurgent dirge will move a +new-born babe to frightened wailing, and stirs in strong men a vague +uneasiness that roots in the vast and calamitous experience of the race. +Call of hungry waters, patter of driving rain, sough of the weird wind, +it requires good company and a red-coal fire to offset their moanings of +eternity. Yet though the fireless tropics could not supply one, and she +lacked the other, the storm voices were hardly responsible for Ethel +Steiner's sadness the third morning after her arrival.</p> + +<p>Neither was it due to the fact that Paul had failed to come in the +preceding night from the mine. Seeming relieved rather than distressed, +she had gone quietly to bed. No, it was neither the storm, his absence, +nor any of the small miseries that afflict young wives. Poor Desdemona! +The curtain was rising early on the tragedy which Bachelder foresaw. +Already the glamour was falling from Paul to the tropics, where it +rightfully belonged; this morning she was living her bitter hour, +fighting down the premonition of a fatal mistake.</p> + +<p>What with her thoughtful pauses, she made but a slow toilet, and when +the last rebellious curl had been coaxed to its place behind her small +ear, she turned, sighing, to the window. One glance, and she started +back, pale, clutching her hands. A rocky snout, thrusting far out into +the belly of the river's great bow, the Promontory stood high above the +ordinary flood level. Once, in far-away Aztec times, a Tewana tradition +had it that a cloudburst in the rains had swept it clear of houses, and +now Time's slow cycle had brought the same deadly coincidence. Where, +last night, a hundred lights had flickered below her windows, a boil of +yellow waters spread, cutting off her house, the last and highest, from +the mainland. Black storm had drowned the cries of fleeing householders. +The flood's mighty voice, bellowing angrily for more victims as it +swallowed house after house, had projected but a faint echo into her +dreams. Now, however, she remembered that Carmencita, her new maid, had +failed to bring in the morning coffee.</p> + +<p>Wringing her hands and loudly lamenting the deadly fear that made her +forget her mistress, Carmencita, poor girl, was in the crowd that was +helping Paul and Bachelder to launch a freight canoe. When Paul—who had +ridden in early from the little village, where he had been +storm-stayed—had tried to impress a crew, the peon boatman had sworn +volubly that no pole would touch bottom and that one might as well try +to paddle the town as a heavy canoe against such a flood. But when +Bachelder stepped in and manned the big sweep, a half-dozen followed. +Notwithstanding, their river wisdom proved. Paddling desperately, they +gained no nearer than fifty yards to the pale face at the window.</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid!" Bachelder shouted, as they swept by. "We'll get you +next time!"</p> + +<p>If the walls did not melt? Already the flood was licking with hungry +tongues the adobe bricks where the plaster had bulged and fallen, and an +hour would fly while they made a landing and dragged the canoe back for +another cast. The boatmen knew! Their faces expressed, anticipated that +which happened as they made the landing half a mile below. Paul saw it +first. Through the swift passage he sat, facing astern, helplessly +clutching the gunwale, and his cry, raucous as that of a maimed animal, +signaled the fall of the house. Sobbing, he collapsed on the bank.</p> + +<p>Bachelder looked down upon him. Momentarily stunned, his thought +returned along with a feeling of relief that would have framed itself +thus in words: "Poor Desdemona! Now she will never know!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Señor! Señor! Mira!</i>" A boatman touched his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Two heads were swirling down the flood, a light and a dark. Bachelder +instantly knew Ethel, but, as yet, he could not make out the strong +swimmer who was at such infinite pains to hold the fair head above +water. Though, time and again, the dark head went under for smotheringly +long intervals, Ethel's never once dipped, and, up or down, the swimmer +battled fiercely, angling across the flood. She—for long hair stamped +her a woman—gained seventy yards shoreward while floating down two +hundred. Three hundred gave her another fifty. So, rising and sinking, +she drifted with her burden down upon Paul and Bachelder. At fifty yards +the artist caught a glimpse of her face, but not till she was almost +under their hands did Paul recognize the swimmer.</p> + +<p>"Andrea!" he shouted.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<p>Reassured by Bachelder's cheery shout, Ethel had busied herself +collecting her watch and other trinkets from the bureau till a smacking +of wet feet caused her to turn, startled. A woman stood in the door, a +woman of matchless amplitudes, such as of old tempted the gods from +heaven. Stark naked, save for the black cloud that dripped below her +waist, her bronze beauty was framed by the ponderous arch.</p> + +<p>"I don't know who you are," Ethel said, recovering, "but you are very +beautiful, and, under the circumstances, welcome. Under ordinary +conditions, your advent would have been a trifle embarrassing. I must +find you a shawl before the canoes come. Here, take this blanket."</p> + +<p>She little imagined how embarrassing the visitation might have proved +under very ordinary conditions. Though the news of Paul's return did +cross before the bridge was carried away, Andrea did not hear it till +that morning, and she would never have had it from a Tewana neighbor. +They pitied the bereavement to which widowhood in the most cruel of +forms was now added. But among them she unfortunately counted a peon +woman of the upper Mexican plateau, one of the class which took from the +Conquest only Spanish viciousness to add to Aztec cruelty. Jealous of +Andrea's luck—as they had deemed it—in marriage, Pancha had thirsted +for the opportunity which came as they drew water together that morning +from the brink of the flood.</p> + +<p>"'Tis the luck of us all!" she exclaimed, malevolently ornamenting her +evil tidings. "They take their pleasure of us, these Gringos, then when +the hide wrinkles, ho for a prettier! They say Tewana hath not such +another as his new flame, and thy house is a hovel to that he fits up +for her on the Promontory."</p> + +<p>Here the hag paused, for two good reasons. That the barbed shaft might +sink deep and rankle from Andrea's belief that her supplanter was a girl +of her tribe, but principally because, just then, she went down under +the ruins of her own <i>olla</i>. A fighter, after her kind, with many a +cutting to her credit, she cowered like a snarling she-wolf among the +sharp potsherds cowed by the enormous anger she had provoked; lay and +watched while the tall beauty ripped shawl, slip and skirt from her +magnificent limbs, then turned and plunged into the flood. Pancha rose +and shook her black fist, hurling curses after.</p> + +<p>"May the alligators caress thy limbs, the fishes pluck thine eyes, the +wolves crack thy bleached bones on the strand."</p> + +<p>That was the lightest of them, but, unheeding Andrea swam on. As her own +house stood in the extreme skirt of the town, the Promontory lay more +than a mile below, but she could see neither it nor the night's +devastation because of the river's bend. Because of the same bend, she +had the aid of the current, which set strongly over to the other shore, +but apart from this the river was one great danger. Floating logs, huge +trees, acres of tangled greenery, the sweepings of a hundred miles of +jungle, covered its surface with other and ghastlier trove. Here the +saurians of Pancha's curse worried a drowned pig, there they fought over +a cow's swollen carcass; yet because of carrion taste or food plethora, +they let her by. There an enormous saber, long and thick as a church, +turned and tumbled, threshing air and water with enormous spreading +branches, creating dangerous swirls and eddies. These she avoided, and, +having swum the river at ebb and flood every day of her life from a +child, she now easily clove its roar and tumble; swam on, her heat +unabated by the water's chill, till, sweeping around the bend, she +sighted the lone house on the Promontory.</p> + +<p>That gave her pause. Had death, then, robbed her anger? The thought +broke the spring of her magnificent energy. Feeling at last the touch of +fatigue, she steered straight for the building and climbed in, to rest, +at a lower window, without a thought of its being occupied till Ethel +moved above.</p> + +<p>Who shall divine her thoughts as, standing there in the door, she gazed +upon her rival? Did she not recognize her as such, or was she moved by +the touch of sorrow, aftermath of the morning's bitterness, that still +lingered on the young wife's face? Events seemed to predicate the +former, but, be that as it may, the eyes which grief and despair had +heated till they flamed like small crucibles of molten gold, now cooled +to their usual soft brown; smiling, she refused the proffered blanket.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ven tu! Ven tu!</i>" she exclaimed, beckoning. Her urgent accent and +gesture carried her meaning, and without question Ethel followed down to +a lower window.</p> + +<p>"But the canoe?" she objected, when Andrea motioned for her to disrobe. +"It will soon be here!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Canoa</i>?" From the one word Andrea caught her meaning. "<i>No hay tiempo. +Mira!</i>"</p> + +<p>Leaning out, Ethel looked and shrank back, her inexperience convinced by +a single glance at the wall. She assisted the strong hands to rip away +her encumbering skirts. It took only a short half-minute, and with that +afforded time for a small femininity to come into play. Placing her own +shapely arm against Ethel's, Andrea murmured soft admiration at the +other's marvelous whiteness. But it was done in a breath. Slipping an +arm about Ethel's waist, Andrea jumped with her from the window, one +minute before the soaked walls collapsed.</p> + +<p>If Ethel's head had remained above, she might have retained her presence +of mind, and so have made things easier for her saviour, but, not +supposing that the whole world contained a mature woman who could not +swim, Andrea loosed her as they took the water. A quick dive partially +amended the error, retrieving Ethel, but not her composure. Coming up, +half-choked, she grappled Andrea, and the two went down together. The +Tewana could easily have broken the white girl's grip and—have lost +her. Instead, she held her breath and presently brought her senseless +burden to the surface.</p> + +<p>Of itself, the struggle was but a small thing to her strength, but +coming on top of the long swim under the shock and play of emotion, it +left her well nigh spent. Yet she struggled shoreward, battling, waging +the war of the primal creature that yields not till Death himself +reenforces bitter odds.</p> + +<p>To this exhaustion, the tales that float in Tehuantepec lay her end, and +Bachelder has never taken time to contradict them. But as she floated +almost within reach of his hand, she steadied at Paul's shout as under +an accession of sudden strength, and looked at her erstwhile husband. +Then, if never before, she knew—him, as well as his works! From him her +glance flashed to the fair face at her shoulder. What power of +divination possessed her? Or was it Bachelder's fancy? He swears to the +chosen few, the few who understand, that her face lit with the same +glory of tender pity that she held over her sick child. Then, before +they could reach her, she shot suddenly up till her bust gleamed wet to +the waist, turned, and dived, carrying down the senseless bride.</p> + +<p>Shouting, Bachelder also dived—in vain. In vain, the dives of his men. +Death, that mighty potentate, loves sweetness full well as a shining +mark. Swiftly, silently, a deep current bore them far out on the flooded +lands and there scoured a sepulcher safe from saurian teeth, beyond the +scope Pancha's curse. Later, the jungle flowed in after the receding +waters and wreathed over the twin grave morning-glories pure as the +white wife, glorious orchids rich as Andrea's bronze.</p> + +<p class="n center">***</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="n">HERE ENDS THE SPINNERS' BOOK OF FICTION BEING SHORT STORIES BY +CALIFORNIA WRITERS COMPILED BY THE BOOK COMMITTEE OF THE SPINNERS' CLUB +FOR THE SPINNERS' BENEFIT FUND INA D. COOLBRITH FIRST BENEFICIARY +ILLUSTRATED BY VARIOUS WESTERN ARTISTS THE DECORATIONS BY SPENCER WRIGHT +THE TYPOGRAPHY DESIGNED BY J. H. NASH PUBLISHED BY PAUL ELDER AND +COMPANY AND PRINTED FOR THEM AT THE TOMOYE PRESS NEW YORK NINETEEN +HUNDRED AND SEVEN</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Spinner's Book of Fiction, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPINNER'S BOOK OF FICTION *** + +***** This file should be named 20343-h.htm or 20343-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/3/4/20343/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Spinner's Book of Fiction + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 11, 2007 [EBook #20343] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPINNER'S BOOK OF FICTION *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "THE DEVIL SIT IN FILON'S EYES AND LAUGH--LAUGH--SOME +TIME HE GO AWAY LIKE A MAN AT A WINDOW, BUT HE COME AGAIN. +M'siu, he live there!" From a Painting by E. Almond Withrow.] + + + + + THE SPINNERS' BOOK OF FICTION + + BY + + GERTRUDE ATHERTON, MARY AUSTIN + GERALDINE BONNER, MARY HALLECK FOOTE + ELEANOR GATES, JAMES HOPPER, JACK LONDON + BAILEY MILLARD, MIRIAM + MICHELSON, W. C. MORROW + FRANK NORRIS, HENRY MILNER RIDEOUT + CHARLES WARREN STODDARD, ISOBEL STRONG + RICHARD WALTON TULLY AND + HERMAN WHITAKER + + WITH A DEDICATORY POEM BY GEORGE STERLING + + COLLECTED BY THE BOOK COMMITTEE OF THE SPINNERS' CLUB + + ILLUSTRATED BY LILLIE V. O'RYAN, MAYNARD DIXON ALBERTINE RANDALL + WHEELAN, MERLE JOHNSON E. ALMOND WITHROW AND GORDON ROSS INITIALS AND + DECORATIONS BY SPENCER WRIGHT + + PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY SAN FRANCISCO AND NEW YORK + + _Published in behalf_ _of The Spinners' Benefit Fund_ + _Ina D. Coolbrith_ _First Beneficiary_ + _Copyright_, 1907 _by_ PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY + + * * * * * + + + + +TO INA D. COOLBRITH + + + WITH WILDER SIGHING IN THE PINE + THE WIND WENT BY, AND SO I DREAMED; + AND IN THAT DUSK OF SLEEP IT SEEMED + A CITY BY THE SEA WAS MINE. + + TO STATELIER SPRANG THE WALLS OF TYRE + FROM SEAWARD CLIFF OR STABLE HILL; + AND LIGHT AND MUSIC MET TO FILL + THE SPLENDID COURTS OF HER DESIRE-- + + (EXTOLLING CHORDS THAT CRIED HER PRAISE, + AND GOLDEN REEDS WHOSE MELLOW MOAN + WAS LIKE AN OCEAN'S UNDERTONE + DYING AND LOST ON FOREST WAYS). + + BUT SWEETER FAR THAN ANY SOUND + THAT RANG OR RIPPLED IN HER HALLS, + WAS ONE BEYOND HER EASTERN WALLS, + BY SUMMER GARDENS GIRDLED ROUND. + + TWAS FROM A NIGHTINGALE, AND OH! + THE SONG IT SANG HATH NEVER WORD! + SWEETER IT SEEMED THAN LOVE'S, FIRST-HEARD, + OR LUTES IN AIDENN MURMURING LOW. + + FAINT, AS WHEN DROWSY WINDS AWAKE + A SISTERHOOD OF FAERY BELLS, + IT WON REPLY FROM HIDDEN DELLS, + LOYAL TO ECHO FOR ITS SAKE.... + + I DREAMT I SLEPT, BUT CANNOT SAY + HOW MANY DREAMLAND SEASONS FLED, + NOR WHAT HORIZON OF THE DEAD + GAVE BACK MY DREAM'S UNCERTAIN DAY. + + BUT STILL BESIDE THE TOILING SEA + I LAY, AND SAW--FOR WALLS O'ERGROWN-- + THE CITY THAT WAS MINE HAD KNOWN + TIME'S SURE AND ANCIENT TREACHERY. + + ABOVE HER RAMPARTS, BROAD AS TYRE'S, + THE GRASSES' MOUNTING ARMY BROKE; + THE SHADOW OF THE SPRAWLING OAK + USURPT THE SPLENDOR OF HER FIRES. + + BUT O'ER THE FALLEN MARBLES PALE + I HEARD, LIKE ELFIN MELODIES + BLOWN OVER FROM ENCHANTED SEAS, + THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHTINGALE. + + GEORGE STERLING. + + + + +THE STORIES + + +CONCHA ARGUeELLO, SISTER DOMINICA +_by Gertrude Atherton_ + +THE FORD OF CREVECOEUR +_by Mary Austin_ + +A CALIFORNIAN +_by Geraldine Bonner_ + +GIDEON'S KNOCK +_by Mary Halleck Foote_ + +A YELLOW MAN AND A WHITE +_by Eleanor Gates_ + +THE JUDGMENT OF MAN +_by James Hopper_ + +THE LEAGUE OF THE OLD MEN +_by Jack London_ + +DOWN THE FLUME WITH THE SNEATH PIANO +_by Bailey Millard_ + +THE CONTUMACY OF SARAH L. WALKER +_by Miriam Michelson_ + +BREAKING THROUGH +_by W. C. Morrow_ + +A LOST STORY +_by Frank Norris_ + +HANTU +_by Henry Milner Rideout_ + +MISS. JUNO +_by Charles Warren Stoddard_ + +A LITTLE SAVAGE GENTLEMAN +_by Isobel Strong_ + +LOVE AND ADVERTISING +_by Richard Walton Tully_ + +THE TEWANA +_by Herman Whitaker_ + + + + +THE ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"The devil sit in Filon's eyes and laugh--laugh--some time +he go away like a man at a window, but he come again. +M'siu, he _live_ there!" +_from a painting by E. Almond Withrow_ + +"She was always very sweet, our Concha, but there never was +a time when you could take a liberty with her." +_from a painting by Lillie V. O'Ryan_ + +"The petal of a plum blossom." +_from a painting by Albertine Randall Wheelan_ + +"Not twenty feet from me Miller sat upright in his canoe as +if petrified." _Opp. Page_ +_from a painting by Merle Johnson_ + +"All their ways lead to death." +_from a painting by Maynard Dixon_ + +"Dawn was flooding the east, and still the boy lurched and +floundered on and on." +_from a painting by Gordon Ross_ + + + + +WHEREFORE? + + +_Wherefore this book of fiction by Californian writers? And why its +appeal otherwise than that of obvious esthetic and literary qualities? +They who read what follows will know._ + +_The fund, which the sale of this book is purposed to aid, was planned +by The Spinners soon after the eighteenth of April, 1906, and was +started with two hundred dollars from their treasury. To this, Mrs. +Gertrude Atherton added another two hundred dollars. Several women's +clubs and private individuals also generously responded, so that now +there is a thousand dollars to the credit of the fund. A bond has been +bought and the interest from it will be paid to Ina D. Coolbrith, the +poet, and first chosen beneficiary of the fund. The Spinners feel +assured that this book will meet with such a ready sale as to make +possible the purchase of several bonds, and so render the accruing +interest a steady source of aid to Miss. Coolbrith._ + +_All who have read and fallen under the charm of her "Songs from the +Golden Gate," or felt the beauty and tenderness of the verses "When the +Grass Shall Cover Me," will, without question, unite in making +"assurance doubly sure" to such end._ + +_From the days of the old_ Overland Monthly, _when she worked side by +side with Bret Harte and Charles Warren Stoddard, to the present moment, +Miss. Coolbrith's name has formed a part of the literary history of San +Francisco._ + +_The eighteenth of April, 1906, and the night which followed it, left +her bereft of all literary, and other, treasures; but her poem bearing +the refrain, "Lost city of my love and my desire," rings with the old +genius, and expresses the feeling of many made desolate by the +destruction of the city which held their most cherished memories._ + +_When Miss. Coolbrith shall no longer need to be a beneficiary of the +fund, it is intended that it shall serve to aid some other writer, +artist or musician whose fortunes are at the ebb._ + +_To the writers, artists and publishers who have so heartily and +generously made this book possible, The Spinners return unmeasured +thanks._ + +_San Francisco, June 22, 1907._ + + + + +CONCHA ARGUeELLO, SISTER DOMINICA + +BY + +GERTRUDE ATHERTON + +DEDICATED TO CAROLINA XIMENO + +Written for THE SPINNERS' BOOK OF FICTION _All Rights Reserved_ + + +SISTER TERESA had wept bitterly for two days. The vanity for which she +did penance whenever her madonna loveliness, consummated by the white +robe and veil of her novitiate, tempted her to one of the little mirrors +in the pupil's dormitory, was powerless to check the blighting flow. +There had been moments when she had argued that her vanity had its +rights, for had it not played its part in weaning her from the +world?--that wicked world of San Francisco, whose very breath, +accompanying her family on their monthly visits to Benicia, made her +cross herself and pray that all good girls whom fate had stranded there +should find the peace and shelter of Saint Catherine of Siena. It was +true that before Sister Dominica toiled up Rincon Hill on that wonderful +day--here her sobs became so violent that Sister Maria Sal, praying +beside her with a face as swollen as her own, gave her a sharp poke in +the ribs, and she pressed her hands to her mouth lest she be marched +away. But her thoughts flowed on; she could pray no more. Sister +Dominica, with her romantic history and holy life, her halo of fame in +the young country, and her unconquerable beauty--she had never seen such +eyelashes, never, never!--_what_ was she thinking of at such a time? +She had never believed that such divine radiance could emanate from any +mortal; never had dreamed that beauty and grace could be so enhanced by +a white robe and a black veil----Oh, well! Her mind was in a rebellious +mood; it had been in leash too long. And what of it for once in a way? +No ball dress she had ever seen in the gay disreputable little +city--where the good citizens hung the bad for want of law--was half as +becoming as the habit of the Dominican nun, and if it played a part in +weaning frivolous girls from the world, so much more to the credit of +Rome. God knew she had never regretted her flight up the bays, and even +had it not been for the perfidy of--she had forgotten his name; that at +least was dead!--she would have realized her vocation the moment Sister +Dominica sounded the call. When the famous nun, with that passionate +humility all her own, had implored her to renounce the world, protested +that her vocation was written in her face--she really looked like a +juvenile mater dolorosa, particularly when she rolled up her +eyes--eloquently demanded what alternative that hideous embryo of a city +could give her--that rude and noisy city that looked as if it had been +tossed together in a night after one of its periodical fires, where the +ill-made sidewalks tripped the unwary foot, or the winter mud was like a +swamp, where the alarm bell summoned the Vigilance Committee day and +night to protect or avenge, where a coarse and impertinent set of +adventurers stared at and followed an inoffensive nun who only left the +holy calm of the convent at the command of the Bishop to rescue brands +from the burning; then had Teresa, sick with the tragedy of youth, an +enchanting vision of secluded paths, where nuns--in white--walked with +downcast eyes and folded hands; of the daily ecstasy of prayer in the +convent chapel misty with incense. + +And in some inscrutable way Sister Dominica during that long +conversation, while Mrs. Grace and her other daughters dispensed egg-nog +in the parlor--it was New Year's Day--had made the young girl a part of +her very self, until Teresa indulged the fancy that without and within +she was a replica of that Concha Argueello of California's springtime; +won her heart so completely that she would have followed her not only +into the comfortable and incomparably situated convent of the saint of +Siena, but barefooted into that wilderness of Soledad where the Indians +still prayed for their lost "Beata." It was just eight months tonight +since she had taken her first vows, and she had been honestly aware that +there was no very clear line of demarcation in her fervent young mind +between her love of Sister Dominica and her love of God. Tonight, almost +prostrate before the coffin of the dead nun, she knew that so far at +least all the real passion of her youth had flowed in an undeflected +tide about the feet of that remote and exquisite being whose personal +charm alone had made a convent possible in the chaos that followed the +discovery of gold. All the novices, many of the older nuns, the pupils +invariably, worshipped Sister Dominica; whose saintliness without +austerity never chilled them, but whose tragic story and the impression +she made of already dwelling in a heaven of her own, notwithstanding +her sweet and consistent humanity, placed her on a pinnacle where any +display of affection would have been unseemly. Only once, after the +beautiful ceremony of taking the white veil was over, and Teresa's +senses were faint from incense and hunger, ecstasy and a new and +exquisite terror, Sister Dominica had led her to her cell and kissing +her lightly on the brow, exclaimed that she had never been happier in a +conquest for the Church against the vileness of the world. Then she had +dropped the conventional speech of her calling, and said with an +expression that made her look so young, so curiously virginal, that the +novice had held her breath: "Remember that here there is nothing to +interrupt the life of the imagination, nothing to change its course, +like the thousand conflicting currents that batter memory and character +to pieces in the world. In this monotonous round of duty and prayer the +mind is free, the heart remains ever young, the soul unspotted; so that +when----" She had paused, hesitated a moment, then abruptly left the +room, and Teresa had wept a torrent in her disappointment that this +first of California's heroines--whose place in history and romance was +assured--had not broken her reserve and told her all that story of many +versions. She had begged Sister Maria Sal--the sister of Luis Argueello's +first wife--to tell it her, but the old nun had reproved her sharply for +sinful curiosity and upon one occasion boxed her ears. But tonight she +might be in a softer mood, and Teresa resolved that when the last rites +were over she would make her talk of Concha Argueello. + +A few moments later she was lifted to her feet by a shaking but still +powerful arm. + +"Come!" whispered Sister Maria. "It is time to prepare. The others have +gone. It is singular that the oldest and the youngest should have loved +her best. Ay! Dios de mi alma! I never thought that Concha Argueello +would die. Grow old she never did, in spite of the faded husk. We will +look at her once more." + +The dead nun in her coffin lay in the little parlor where she had turned +so many wavering souls from fleeting to eternal joys. Her features, +wasted during years of delicate health, seemed to regain something of +their youth in the soft light of the candles. Or was it the long black +eyelashes that hid the hollows beneath the eyes?--or the faint +mysterious almost mocking smile? Had the spirit in its eternal youth +paused in its flight to stamp a last sharp impress upon the prostrate +clay? Never had she looked so virginal, and that had been one of the +most arresting qualities of her always remarkable appearance; but there +was something more--Teresa held her breath. Somehow, dead and in her +coffin, she looked less saintly than in life; although as pure and +sweet, there was less of heavenly peace on those marble features than of +some impassioned human hope. Teresa excitedly whispered her unruly +thoughts to Sister Maria, but instead of the expected reproof the old +nun lifted her shoulders. + +"Perhaps," she said. "Who knows?" + + * * * * * + +It was Christmas eve and all the inmates of the convent paused in their +sorrow to rejoice in the happy portent of the death and burial of one +whom they loyally believed to be no less entitled to beatification than +Catherine herself. Her miracles may not have been of the irreducible +protoplastic order, but they had been miracles to the practical +Californian mind, notwithstanding, and worthy of the attention of +consistory and Pope. Moreover, this was the season when all the vivacity +and gaiety of her youth had revived, and she made merry, not only for +the children left at the convent by their nomadic parents, but for all +the children of the town, whatever the faith of their somewhat anxious +elders. + +An hour after sundown they carried the bier on which her coffin rested +into the chapel. It was a solemn procession that none, taking part, was +likely to forget, and stirred the young hearts at least with an ecstatic +desire for a life as saintly as this that hardly had needed the crown of +death. + +Following the bier was the cross-bearer, holding the emblem so high it +was half lost in the shadows. Behind her were the young scholars dressed +in black, then the novices in their white robes and veils, carrying +lighted tapers to symbolize the eternal radiance that awaited the pure +in spirit. The nuns finished the procession that wound its way slowly +through the long ill-lighted corridors, chanting the litany of the dead. +From the chapel, at first almost inaudible, but waxing louder every +moment, came the same solemn monotonous chant; for the Bishop and his +assistants were already at the altar.... + +Teresa, from the organ loft, looked eagerly down upon the beautiful +scene, in spite of the exaltation that filled her: her artistic sense +was the one individuality she possessed. The chapel was aglow with the +soft radiance of many wax candles. They stood in high candelabra against +the somber drapery on the walls, and there were at least a hundred about +the coffin on its high catafalque before the altar; the Argueellos were +as prodigal as of old. About the catafalque was an immense mound of +roses from the garden of the convent, and palms and pampas from the +ranch of Santiago Argueello in the south. The black-robed scholars knelt +on one side of the dead, the novices on the other, the relatives and +friends behind. But art had perfected itself in the gallery above the +lower end of the chapel. This also was draped with black which seemed to +absorb, then shed forth again the mystic brilliance of the candles; and +kneeling, well apart, were the nuns in their ivory white robes and black +veils, their banded softened features as composed and peaceful as if +their own reward had come. + +The Bishop and the priests read the Requiem Mass, the little organ +pealed the _De Profundis_ as if inspired; and when the imperious +triumphant music of Handel followed, Teresa's fresh young soprano +seemed, to her excited imagination, to soar to the gates of heaven +itself. When she looked down again the lights were dim in the incense, +her senses swam in the pungent odor of spices and gum. The Bishop was +walking about the catafalque casting holy water with a brush against the +coffin above. He walked about a second time swinging the heavy copper +censer, then pronounced the _Requiescat in pace_, "dismissing," as we +find inscribed in the convent records, "a tired soul out of all the +storms of life into the divine tranquillity of death." + +The bier was again shouldered, the procession reformed, and marched, +still with lighted tapers and chanting softly, out into the cemetery of +the convent. It was a magnificent, clear night and as mild as spring. +Below the steep hill the little town of Benicia celebrated the eve of +Christmas with lights and noise. Beyond, the water sparkled like running +silver under the wide beams of the moon poised just above the peak of +Monte Diablo, the old volcano that towered high above this romantic and +beautiful country of water and tule lands, steep hillsides and canons, +rocky bluffs overhanging the straits. In spite of the faint discords +that rose from the town and the slow tolling of the convent bell, it was +a scene of lofty and primeval grandeur, a fit setting for the last +earthly scene of a woman whose lines had been cast in the wilderness, +but yet had found the calm and the strength and the peace of the old +mountain, with its dead and buried fires. + +The grave closed, the mourners returned to the convent, but not in +order. At the door Teresa felt her arm taken possession of by a strong +hand with which she had had more than one disconcerting encounter. + +"Let us walk," said Sister Maria Sal in her harsh but strong old voice. +"I have permission. I must talk of Concha tonight or I should burst. It +is not for nothing one keeps silent for years and years. I at least am +still human. And you loved her the best and have spoiled your pretty +face with weeping. You must not do that again, for the young love a +pretty nun and will follow her into the one true life on earth far +sooner than an ugly old phiz like mine." + +Sister Maria, indeed, retained not an index of the beauty with which +tradition accredited her youth. She was a stout unwieldy old woman with +a very red face covered half over with black down, and in the bright +moonlight Teresa could see the three long hairs that stood out straight +from a mole above her mouth and scratched the girls when she kissed +them. Tonight her nose was swollen and her eyes looked like appleseeds. +Teresa hastily composed her features and registered a vow that in her +old age she would look like Sister Dominica, not like that. She had +heard that Concha, too, had been frivolous in her youth, and had not she +herself a tragic bit of a story? True, her youthful love-tides had +turned betimes from the grave beside the Mission Dolores to the lovely +nun and the God of both, and she had heard that Dona Concha had proved +her fidelity to a wonderful Russian throughout many years before she +took the veil. Perhaps--who knew?--her more conformable pupil might have +restored the worthless to her heart before he was knifed in the full +light of day on Montgomery Street by one from whom he had won more than +thousands the night before; perhaps have consoled herself with another +less eccentric, had not Sister Dominica sought her at the right moment +and removed her from the temptations of the world. Well, never mind, she +could at least be a good nun and an amiable instructor of youth, and if +she never looked like a living saint she would grow soberer and nobler +with the years and take care that she grew not stout and red. + +For a time Sister Maria did not speak, but walked rapidly and heavily up +and down the path, dragging her companion with her and staring out at +the beauty of the night. But suddenly she slackened her pace and burst +into speech. + +"Ay yi! Ay de mi! To think that it is nearly half a century--forty-two +years to be precise--for will it not be 1858 in one more week?--since +Rezanov sailed out through what Fremont has called 'The Golden Gate'! +And forty-one in March since he died--not from the fall of a horse, as +Sir George Simpson (who had not much regard for the truth anyway, for he +gave a false picture of our Concha), and even Doctor Langsdorff, who +should have known better, wrote it, but worn out, worn out, after +terrible hardships, and a fever that devoured him inch by inch. And he +was so handsome when he left us! Dios de mi alma! never have I seen a +man like that. If I had I should not be here now, perhaps, so it is as +well. But never was I even engaged, and when permission came from Madrid +for the marriage of my sister Rafaella with Luis Argueello--he was an +officer and could not marry without a special license from the King, and +through some strange oversight he was six long years getting it--; well, +I lived with them and took care of the children until Rafaella--Ay yi! +what a good wife she made him, for he 'toed the mark,' as the Americans +say--; well, she died, and one of those days he married another; for +will not men be men? And Luis was a good man in spite of all, a fine +loyal clever man, who deserves the finest monument in the cemetery of +the Mission Dolores--as they call it now. The Americans have no respect +for anything and will not say San Francisco de Assisi, for it is too +long and they have time for nothing but the gold. Were it not a sin, +how I should hate them, for they have stolen our country from us--but +no, I will not; and, to be sure, if Rezanov had lived he would have had +it first, so what difference? Luis, at least, was spared. He died in +1830--and was the first Governor of Alta California after Mexico threw +off the yoke of Spain. He had power in full measure and went before +these upstart conquerors came to humble the rest of us into the dust. +Peace to his ashes--but perhaps you care nothing for this dear brother +of my youth, never heard of him before--such a giddy thing you were; +although at the last earthquake the point of his monument flew straight +into the side of the church and struck there, so you may have heard the +talk before they put it back in its place. It is of Sister Dominica you +think, but I think not only of her but of those old days--Ay, Dios de +mi! Who remembers that time but a few old women like myself? + +"Concha's father, Don Jose Dario Argueello, was Commandante of the +Presidio of San Francisco then; and there was nothing else to call San +Francisco but the Mission. Down at Yerba Buena, where the Americans +flaunt themselves, there was but a Battery that could not give even a +dance. But we had dances at the Presidio; day and night the guitar +tinkled and the fiddles scraped; for what did we know of care, or old +age, or convents or death? I was many years younger than Rafaella and +did not go to the grand balls, but to the little dances, yes, many and +many. When the Russians came--it was in 1806--I saw them every day, and +one night danced with Rezanov himself. He was so gay--ay de mi! I +remember he swung me quite off my feet and made as if he would throw me +in the air. I was angry that he should treat me like a baby, and then he +begged me so humbly to forgive him, although his eyes laughed, that of +course I did. He had come down from Sitka to try and arrange for a +treaty with the Spanish government that the poor men in the employ of +the Russian-American Company might have breadstuffs to eat and not die +of scurvy, nor toil through the long winter with no flesh on their +bones. He brought a cargo with him to exchange for our corn and flour +meanwhile. We had never seen any one so handsome and so grand and he +turned all our heads, but he had a hard time with the Governor and Don +Jose--there are no such Californians now or the Americans would never +have got us--and it took all his diplomacy and all the help Concha and +the priests could give him before he got his way, for there was a law +against trading with foreigners. It was only when he and Concha became +engaged that Governor Arillaga gave in--how I pick up vulgar expressions +from these American pupils, I who should reform them! And did I not +stand Ellen O'Reilley in the corner yesterday for calling San Francisco +'Frisco'?--_San Francisco de Assisi!_ But all the saints have fled from +California. + +"Where was I? Forgive an old woman's rambling, but I have not told +stories since Rafaella's children grew up, and that was many years ago. +What do I talk here? You know. And I that used to love to talk. Ay yi! +But no one can say that I am not a good nun. Bishop Alemany has said it +and no one knows better than he, the holy man. But for him I might be +sitting all day on a corridor in the south sunning myself like an old +crocodile, for we had no convent till he came eight years ago; and +perhaps but for Concha, whom I always imitated, I might have a dozen +brats of my own, for I was pretty and had my wooers and might have been +persuaded. And God knows, since I must have the care of children, I +prefer they should be mothered by some one else for then I have always +the hope to be rid of them the sooner. Well, well! I am not a saint yet, +and when I go to heaven I suppose Concha will still shake her finger at +me with a smile. Not that she was ever self-righteous, our Concha. Not a +bit of it. Only after that long and terrible waiting she just naturally +became a saint. Some are made that way and some are not. That is all. + +"Did I tell you about the two young lieutenants that came with Baron +Rezanov? Davidov and Khostov their names were. Well, well, I shall tell +all tonight. I was but fourteen, but what will you? Was I not, then, +Spanish? It was Davidov. He always left the older people to romp with +the children, although I think there was a flame in his heart for +Concha. Perhaps had I been older--who knows? Do not look at my whiskers! +That was forty-two years ago. Well, I dreamed of the fair kind young +Russian for many a night after he left, and when my time came to marry I +would look at none of the caballeros, but nursed Rafaella's babies and +thought my thoughts. And then--in 1815 I think it was--the good--and +ugly--Dr. Langsdorff sent Luis a copy of his book--he had been surgeon +to his excellency--and alas! it told of the terrible end of both those +gay kind young men. They were always too fond of brandy; we knew that, +but we never--well, hear me! One night not so many years after they +sailed away from California, they met Dr. Langsdorff and another friend +of their American days, Captain D'Wolf, by appointment in St. Petersburg +for a grand reunion. They were all so happy! Perhaps it was that made +them too much 'celebrate,' as the Americans say in their dialect. Well, +alas! they celebrated until four in the morning, and then my two dear +young Russians--for I loved Khostov as a sister, so devoted he was to my +friend--well, they started--on foot--for home, and that was on the other +side of the Neva. They had almost crossed the bridge when they suddenly +took it into their heads that they wanted to see their friends again, +and started back. Alas, in the middle of the bridge was a section that +opened to permit the passage of boats with tall masts. The night was +dark and stormy. The bridge was open. They did not see it. The river was +roaring and racing like a flood. A sailor saw them fall, and then strike +back for the coming boat. Then he saw them no more. That was the last of +my poor friends. + +"And we had all been so gay, so gay! For how could we know? All the +Russians said that never had they seen a people so light-hearted and +frolicking as the Californians, so hospitable, so like one great family. +And we were, we were. But you know of that time. Was not your mother +Conchitita Castro, if she did marry an American and has not taught you +ten words of Spanish? It is of Concha you would hear, and I ramble. +Well, who knows? perhaps I hesitate. Rezanov was of the Greek Church. No +priest in California would have married them even had Don Jose--_el +santo_ we called him--given his consent. It was for that reason Rezanov +went to obtain a dispensation from His Holiness and a license from the +King of Spain. Concha knew that he could not return for two years or +nearly that, nor even send her a letter; for why should ships come down +from Sitka until the treaty was signed? Only Rezanov could get what he +wanted, law or no law. And then too our Governor had forbidden the +British and Bostonians--so we called the Americans in those days--to +enter our ports. This Concha knew, and when one knows one can think in +storeys, as it were, and put the last at the top. It is not so bad as +the hope that makes the heart thump every morning and the eyes turn into +fountains at night. Dios! To think that I should ever have shed a tear +over a man. Chinchosas, all of them. However--I think Concha, who was +never quite as others, knew deep down in her heart that he would not +come back, that it was all too good to be true. Never was a man seen as +handsome as that one, and so clever--a touch of the devil in his +cleverness, but that may have been because he was a Russian. I know not. +And to be a great lady in St. Petersburg, and later--who can +tell?--vice-Tsarina of all this part of the world! No, it could not be. +It was a fairy tale. I only wonder that the bare possibility came into +the life of any woman,--and that a maiden of New Spain, in an unknown +corner, that might as well have been on Venus or Mars. + +"But Concha had character. She was not one to go into a +decline--although I am woman enough to know that her pillow was wet many +nights; and besides she lost the freshness of her beauty. She was often +as gay as ever, but she cared less and less for the dance, and found +more to do at home. Don Jose was made Commandante of the Santa Barbara +Company that same year, and it was well for her to be in a place where +there were no memories of Rezanov. But late in the following year as the +time approached for his return, or news of him, she could not contain +her impatience. We all saw it--I was visiting the Pachecos in the +Presidio of Santa Barbara. She grew so thin. Her eyes were never still. +We knew. And then!--how many times she climbed to the fortress--it was +on that high bluff beside the channel--and stared out to sea--when 1808 +and the Spring had come--for hours together: Rezanov was to return by +way of Mexico. Then, when I went back to San Francisco soon after, she +went with me, and again she would watch the sea from the summit of Lone +Mountain, as we call it now. In spite of her reason she hoped, I +suppose; for that is the way of women. Or perhaps she only longed for +the word from Sitka that would tell her the worst and have done with it. +Who knows? She never said, and we dared not speak of it. She was always +very sweet, our Concha, but there never was a time when you could take a +liberty with her. + +[Illustration: "SHE WAS ALWAYS VERY SWEET OUR CONCHA, +BUT THERE NEVER WAS A TIME WHEN YOU COULD TAKE A LIBERTY WITH HER." +FROM A PAINTING BY LILLIE V. O'RYAN.] + +"No ship came, but something else did--an earthquake! Ay yi, what an +earthquake that was! Not a _temblor_ but a _terremoto_. The whole +Presidio came down. I do not know now how we saved all the babies, +but we always flew to the open with a baby under each arm the moment an +earthquake began, and in the first seconds even this was not so bad. The +wall about the Presidio was fourteen feet high and seven feet thick and +there were solid trunks of trees crossed inside the adobe. It looked +like a heap of dirt, nothing more. Luis was riding up from the Battery +of Yerba Buena and his horse was flung down and he saw the sand-dunes +heaving toward him like waves in a storm and shiver like quicksilver. +And there was a roar as if the earth had dropped and the sea gone after. +Ay California! And to think that when Luis wrote a bitter letter to +Governor Arillaga in Monterey, the old Mexican wrote back that he had +felt earthquakes himself and sent him a box of dates for consolation! +Well--we slept on the ground for two months and cooked out-of-doors, for +we would not go even into the Mission--which had not suffered--until the +earthquakes were over; and if the worst comes first there are plenty +after--and, somehow, harder to bear. Perhaps to Concha that terrible +time was a God-send, for she thought no more of Rezanov for a while. If +the earthquake does not swallow your body it swallows your little self. +You are a flea. Just that and nothing more. + +"But after a time all was quiet again; the houses were rebuilt and +Concha went back to Santa Barbara. By that time she knew that Rezanov +would never come, although it was several years before she had a word. +Such stories have been told that she did not know of his death for +thirty years! Did not Baranhov, Chief-manager of the Russian-Alaskan +Company up there at Sitka, send Koskov--that name was so like!--to +Bodega Bay in 1812, and would he fail to send such news with him? Was +not Dr. Langsdorff's book published in 1814? Did not Kotzbue, who was on +his excellency's staff during the embassy to Japan, come to us in 1816, +and did we not talk with him every day for a month? Did not Rezanov's +death spoil all Russia's plans in this part of the world--perhaps, who +knows? alter the course of her history? It is likely we were long +without hearing the talk of the North! Such nonsense! Yes, she knew it +soon enough, but as that good Padre Abella once said to us, she had the +making of the saint and the martyr in her, and even when she could hope +no more she did not die, nor marry some one else, nor wither up and spit +at the world. Long before the news came, indeed, she carried out a plan +she had conceived, so Padre Abella told us, even while Rezanov was yet +here. There were no convents in California in those days--you may know +what a stranded handful we were--but she joined the Tertiary or Third +Order of Franciscans, and wore always the grey habit, the girdle, and +the cross. She went among the Indians christianizing them, remaining a +long while at Soledad, a bleak and cheerless place, where she was also a +great solace to the wives of the soldiers and settlers, whose children +she taught. The Indians called her 'La Beata,' and by that name she was +known in all California until she took the veil, and that was more than +forty years later. And she was worshipped, no less. So beautiful she +was, so humble, so sweet, and at the same time so practical; she had +what the Americans call 'hard sense,' and something of Rezanov's own +way of managing people. When she made up her mind to bring a sinner or a +savage into the Church she did it. You know. + +"But do not think she had her way in other things without a struggle. +Don Jose and Dona Ignacia--her mother--permitted her to enter upon the +religious life, for they understood; and Luis and Santiago made no +protest either, for they understood also and had loved Rezanov. But the +rest of her family, the relations, the friends, the young men--the +caballeros! They went in a body you might say to Don Jose and demanded +that Concha, the most beautiful and fascinating and clever girl in New +Spain, should come back to the world where she belonged,--be given in +marriage. But Concha had always ruled Don Jose, and all the protests +went to the winds. And William Sturgis--the young Bostonian who lived +with us for so many years? I have not told you of him, and your mother +was too young to remember. Well, never mind. He would have taken Concha +from California, given her just a little of what she would have had as +the wife of Rezanov--not in himself; he was as ugly as my whiskers; but +enough of the great world to satisfy many women, and no one could deny +that he was good and very clever. But to Concha he was a brother--no +more. Perhaps she did not even take the trouble to refuse him. It was a +way she had. After a while he went home to Boston and died of the +climate. I was very sorry. He was one of us. + +"And her intellect? Concha put it to sleep forever. She never read +another book of travel, of history, biography, memoirs, essays, +poetry--romance she had never read, and although some novels came to +California in time she never opened them. It was peace she wanted, not +the growing mind and the roving imagination. She brought her +conversation down to the level of the humblest, and perhaps--who +knows?--her thoughts. At all events, although the time came when she +smiled again, and was often gay when we were all together in the +family--particularly with the children, who came very fast, of +course--well, she was then another Concha, not that brilliant +dissatisfied ambitious girl we had all known, who had thought the +greatest gentleman from the Viceroy's court not good enough to throw +gold at her feet when she danced El Son. + +"There were changes in her life. In 1814 Don Jose was made Gobernador +Propietario of Lower California. He took all of his unmarried children +with him, and Concha thought it her duty to go. They lived in Loreto +until 1821. But Concha never ceased to pray that she might return to +California--we never looked upon that withered tongue of Mexico as +California; and when Don Jose died soon after his resignation, and her +mother went to live with her married daughters, Concha returned with the +greatest happiness she had known, I think, since Rezanov went. Was not +California all that was left her? + +"She lived in Santa Barbara for many years, in the house of Don Jose de +la Guerra--in that end room of the east wing. She had many relations, it +is true, but Concha was always human and liked relations better when she +was not surrounded by them. Although she never joined in any of the +festivities of that gay time she was often with the Guerra family and +seemed happy enough to take up her old position as Beata among the +Indians and children, until they built a school for her in Monterey. How +we used to wonder if she ever thought of Rezanov any more. From the day +the two years were over she never mentioned his name, and everybody +respected her reserve, even her parents. And she grew more and more +reserved with the years, never speaking of herself at all, except just +after her return from Mexico. But somehow we knew. And did not the very +life she had chosen express it? Even the Church may not reach the secret +places of the soul, and who knows what heaven she may have found in +hers? And now? I think purgatory is not for Concha, and he was not bad +as men go, and has had time to do his penance. It is true the Church +tells us there is no marrying in heaven--but, well, perhaps there is a +union for mated spirits of which the Church knows nothing. You saw her +expression in her coffin. + +"Well! The time arrived when we had a convent. Bishop Alemany came in +1850, and in the first sermon he preached in Santa Barbara--I think it +was his first in California--he announced that he wished to found a +convent. He was a Dominican, but one order was as another to Concha; she +had never been narrow in anything. As soon as the service was over, +before he had time to leave the church, she went to him and asked to be +the first to join. He was glad enough, for he knew of her and that no +one could fill his convent as rapidly as she. Therefore was she the +first nun, the first to take holy vows, in our California. For a +little, the convent was in the old Hartnell house in Monterey, but Don +Manuel Ximeno had built a great hotel while believing, with all the +rest, that Monterey would be the capital of the new California as of the +old, and he was glad to sell it to the Bishop. We were delighted--of +course I followed when Concha told me it was my vocation--that the +Americans preferred Yerba Buena. + +"Concha took her first vows in April, soon after the Bishop's arrival, +choosing the name Sister Maria, Dominica. On the 13th of April 1852 she +took the black veil and perpetual vows. Of course the convent had a +school at once. Concha's school had been a convent of a sort and the +Bishop merely took it over. All the flower of California have been +educated by Concha Argueello, including Chonita Estenega who is so great +a lady in Mexico today. Two years later we came here, and here we shall +stay, no doubt. I think Concha loved Benicia better than any part of +California she had known, for it was still California without too +piercing reminders of the past: life at the other Presidios and Missions +was but the counterpart of our San Francisco, and here the priests and +military had never come. In this beautiful wild spot where the elk and +the antelope and the deer run about like rabbits, and you meet a bear if +you go too far--Holy Mary!--where she went sometimes in a boat among the +tules on the river, and where one may believe the moon lives in a silver +lake in the old crater of Monte Diablo--Ay, it was different enough and +might bring peace to any heart. What she must have suffered for years +in those familiar scenes! But she never told. And now she lies here +under her little cross and he in Krasnoiarsk--under a stone shaped like +an altar, they say. Well! who knows? That is all. I go in now; my old +bones ache with the night damp. But my mind is lighter, although never I +shall speak of this again. And do you not think of it any more. +Curiosity and the world and such nonsense as love and romance are not +for us. Go to bed at once and tie a stocking round your throat that you +have not a frog in it tomorrow morning when you sing 'Glory be to God on +High.' _Buen Dias!_" + + + + +THE FORD OF CREVECOEUR + +BY + +MARY AUSTIN + +Reprinted from _Out West_ by permission. + + +YES. I understand; you are M'siu the Notary, M'siu the Sheriff has told +me. You are come to hear how by the help of God I have killed Filon +Geraud at the ford of Crevecoeur. By the help of God, yes. Think you if +the devil had a hand in it, he would not have helped Filon? For he was +the devil's own, was Filon. He was big, he was beautiful, he had a +way--but always there was the devil's mark. I see that the first time +ever I knew him at Agua Caliente. The devil sit in Filon's eyes and +laugh--laugh--some time he go away like a man at a window, but he come +again. M'siu, he _live_ there! And Filon, he know that I see, so he make +like he not care; but I think he care a little, else why he make for +torment me all the time? Ever since I see him at that shearing at Agua +Caliente eight, ten year gone, he not like for let me be. I have been +the best shearer in that shed, snip--snip--quick, clean. Ah, it is +beautiful! All the sheepmen like for have me shear their sheep. Filon is +new man at that shearing, Lebecque is just hire him then; but yes, +M'siu, to see him walk about that Agua Caliente you think he own all +those sheep, all that range. Ah--he had a way! Pretty soon that day +Filon is hearing all sheepmen say that Raoul is the best shearer; then +he come lean on the rail by my shed and laugh softly like he talk with +himself, and say, "See the little man; see him shear." But me, I can no +more. The shears turn in my hand so I make my sheep all bleed same like +one butcher. Then I look up and see the devil in Filon Geraud's eye. It +is always so after that, all those years until I kill Filon. If I make a +little game of poker with other shepherds then he walks along and say: + +"Ah, you, Raoul, you is one sharp fellow. I not like for play with you." +Then is my play all gone bad. + +But if Filon play, then he say, "Come, you little man, and bring me the +good luck." + +It is so, M'siu! If I go stand by that game, Filon is win, win all the +time. That is because of the devil. And if there are women--no, M'siu, +there was never _one_ woman. What would a shepherd, whose work is always +toward the hills, do with a woman? Is it to plant a vineyard that others +may drink wine? Ah, non! But me, at shearings and at Tres Pinos where we +pay the tax, there I like to talk to pretty girl same as other +shepherds, then Filon come make like he one gran' friend. All the time +he make say the compliments, he make me one mock. His eyes they laugh +always, that make women like to do what he say. But me, I have no +chance. + +It is so, M'siu, when I go out with my sheep. This is my trail--I go out +after the shearing through the Canada de las Vinas, then across the +Little Antelope, while the grass is quick. After that I go up toward the +hills of Olancho, where I keep one month; there is much good feed and +no man comes. Also then I wait at Tres Pinos for the sheriff that I pay +the tax. _Sacre_! it is a hard one, that tax! After that I am free of +the Sierras, what you call _Nieve_--snowy. Well I know that country. I +go about with my sheep and seek my meadows--_mine_, M'siu, that I have +climbed the great mountains to spy out among the pines, that I have +found by the grace of God, and my own wit: La Crevasse, Moultrie, +Bighorn, Angostura. Also, I go by other meadows where other shepherds +feed one month with another; but these _these_ are all _mine_. I go +about and come again when the feed is grown. + +M'siu, it is hard to believe, but it is so--Filon finds my meadows one +by one. One year I come by La Crevasse--there is nothing there; I go on +to Moultrie--here is the grass eaten to the roots, and the little pines +have no tops; at Bighorn is the fresh litter of a flock. I think maybe +my sheep go hungry that summer. So I come to Angostura. There is Filon. +He laugh. Then it come into my mind that one day I goin' kill that Filon +Geraud. By the help of God. Yes. For he is big that Filon, he is strong; +and me, M'siu, I am as God made me. + +So always, where I go on the range there is Filon; if I think to change +my trail, he change also his. If I have good luck, Filon has better. If +to him is the misfortune--ah--you shall hear. + +One year Gabriel Lausanne tell me that Filon is lose all his lambs in +the Santa Ana. You know that Santa Ana, M'siu? It is one mighty wind. It +comes up small, very far away, one little dust like the clouds, creep, +creep close by the land. It lies down along the sand; you think it is +done? Eh, it is one liar, that Santa Ana. It rise up again, it is pale +gold, it seek the sky. That sky is all wide, clean, no speck. Ah, it +knows, that sky; it will have nothing lying about when the Santa Ana +comes. It is hot then, you have the smell of the earth in your nostrils. +_That_, M'siu, is the Santa Ana. It is pale dust and the great push of +the wind. The sand bites, there is no seeing the flock's length. They +huddle, and the lambs are smothered; they scatter, and the dogs can +nothing make. If it blow one day, you thank God; if it blow two days, +then is sheepman goin' to lose his sheep. When Gabriel tell me that +about Filon, I think he deserve all that. What you think, M'siu? That +same night the water of Tinpah rise in his banks afar off by the hills +where there is rain. It comes roaring down the wash where I make my +camp, for you understand at that time of year there should be no water +in the wash of Tinpah, but it come in the night and carry away one-half +of my sheep. Eh, how you make that, M'siu; is it the devil or no? + +Well, it go like this eight, ten year; then it come last summer, and I +meet Filon at the ford of Crevecoeur. That is the water that comes down +eastward from Mineral Mountain between Olancho and Sentinel Rock. It is +what you call Mineral Creek, but the French shepherds call it +Crevecoeur. For why; it is a most swift and wide water; it goes darkly +between earthy banks upon which it gnaws. It has hot springs which come +up in it without reason, so that there is no safe crossing at any time. +Its sands are quick; what they take, they take wholly with the life in +it, and after a little they spew it out again. And, look you, it makes +no singing, this water of Crevecoeur. Twenty years have I kept sheep +between Red Butte and the Temblor Hills, and I say this. Make no fear of +singing water, for it goes not too deeply but securely on a rocky +bottom; such a one you may trust. But this silent one, that is hot or +cold, deep or shallow, and has never its banks the same one season with +another, this you may not trust, M'siu. And to get sheep across +it--ah--it breaks the heart, this Crevecoeur. + +Nevertheless, there is one place where a great rock runs slantwise of +the stream, but under it, so that the water goes shallowly with a +whisper, ah, so fast, and below it is a pool. Here on the rocks the +shepherds make pine logs to lie with stones so that the sheep cross +over. Every year the water carries the logs away and the shepherds build +again, and there is no shepherd goes by that water but lose some sheep. +Therefore, they call it the ford of Crevecoeur [Break-heart]. + +Well, I have been about by the meadow of Angostura when it come last +July, and there I see Narcisse Duplin. He is tell me the feed is good +about Sentinel Rock, so I think me to go back by the way of Crevecoeur. +There is pine wood all about eastward from that place. It is all shadow +there at midday and has a weary sound. Me, I like it not, that pine +wood, so I push the flock and am very glad when I hear toward the ford +the bark of dogs and the broken sound of bells. I think there is other +shepherd that make talk with me. But me, M'siu, _sacre! damn!_ when I +come out by the ford there is Filon Geraud. He has come up one side +Crevecoeur, with his flock, as I have come up the other. He laugh. + +"Hillo, Raoul," say Filon, "will you cross?" + +"I will cross," say I. + +"After me," say Filon. + +"Before," say I. + +M'siu does not know about sheep? Ah, non. It is so that the sheep is +most scare of all beasts about water. Never so little a stream will he +cross, but if the dogs compel him. It is the great trouble of shepherds +to get the flock across the waters that go in and about the Sierras. For +that it is the custom to have two, three goats with the flocks to go +first across the water, then they will follow. But here at Crevecoeur it +is bad crossing any way you go; also that day it is already afternoon. +Therefore I stand at one side that ford and make talk with Filon at the +other about who goes first. Then my goat which leads my flock come push +by me and I stand on that log while we talk. He is one smart goat. + +"Eh, Raoul, let the goats decide," cries Filon, and to that I have +agree. Filon push his goat on the log, he is one great black one that is +call Diable--I ask you is that a name for a goat? I have call mine Noe. +So they two walk on that log very still; for they see what they have to +do. Then they push with the head, Diable and Noe, till that log it rock +in the water; Filon is cry to his goat and I to mine. Then because of +that water one goat slip on the log, and the other is push so hard that +he cannot stop; over they go into the pool of swift water, over and over +until they come to the shallows; then they find their feet and come up, +each on his own side. They will not care to push with the heads again at +that time. Filon he walk out on the log to me, and I walk to him. + +"My goat have won the ford," says he. + +"Your goat cannot keep what he wins." + +"But I can," say Filon. Then he look at me with his eyes like--like I +have told you, M'siu. + +"Raoul," he say, "you is one little man." + +With that I remember me all the wrong I have had from this one. + +"Go you after your goat, Filon Geraud," say I. + +With that I put my staff behind his foot, so, M'siu, and send him into +the water, splash! He come to his feet presently in the pool with the +water all in his hair and his eyes, and the stream run strong and dark +against his middle. + +"Hey, you, Raoul, what for you do that?" he say, but also he laugh. "Ah, +ha, little man, you have the joke this time." + +M'siu, that laugh stop on his face like it been freeze, his mouth is +open, his eyes curl up. It is terrible, that dead laugh in the midst of +the black water that run down from his hair. + +"Raoul," he say, "_the sand is quick_!" + +Then he take one step, and I hear the sand suck. I see Filon shiver like +a reed in the swift water. + +"_My God_," he say, "_the sand is quick_!" + +M'siu, I do not know how it is with me. When I throw Filon in the pool, +I have not known it is quick-sand; but when I hear that, I think I am +glad. I kneel down by that log in the ford and watch Filon. He speak to +me very quiet: + +"You must get a rope and make fast to that pine and throw the end to me. +There is a rope in my pack." + +"Yes," say I, "there is a rope." + +So I take my flocks across the ford, since Filon is in the water, and +take all those silly ones toward La Crevasse, and after I think about +that business. Three days after, I meet P'tee Pete. I tell him I find +the sheep of Filon in the pine wood below Sentinel Rock. Pete, he say +that therefore Filon is come to some hurt, and that he look for him. +That make me scare lest he should look by the ford of Crevecoeur. So +after that, five or six days, when Narcisse Duplin is come up with me, I +tell him Filon is gone to Sacramento where his money is; therefore I +keep care of his sheep. That is a better tale--eh, M'siu,--for I have to +say something. Every shepherd in that range is know those sheep of +Filon. All this time I think me to take the sheep to Pierre Jullien in +the meadow of Black Mountain. He is not much, that Pierre. If I tell him +it is one gift from _Le bon Dieu_, that is explain enough for Pierre +Jullien. Then I will be quit of the trouble of Filon Geraud. + +So, M'siu, would it have been, but for that dog Helene. That is Filon's +she-dog that he raise from a pup. She is--she is _une femme_, that dog! +All that first night when we come away from the ford, she cry, cry in +her throat all through the dark, and in the light she look at me with +her eyes, so to say: + +"I know, Raoul! I know what is under the water of Crevecoeur." M'siu, is +a man to stand that from a dog? So the next night I beat her, and in the +morning she is gone. I think me the good luck to get rid of her. That +Helene! M'siu, what you think she do? She have gone back to look in the +water for Filon. There she stay, and all sheepmen when they pass that +way see that she is a good sheepdog, and that she is much hungry; so +they wonder that she will not leave off to look and go with them. After +while all people in those parts is been talkin' about that dog of +Filon's that look so keen in the water of Crevecoeur. Mebbe four, five +weeks after that I have killed Filon, one goes riding by that place and +sees Helene make mourn by the waterside over something that stick in the +sand. It is Filon. Yes. That quick-sand have spit him out again. So you +say; but me, I think it is the devil. + +For the rest the sheriff has told you. Here they have brought me, and +there is much talk. Of that I am weary, but for this I tell you all how +it is about Filon; M'siu, I would not hang. Look you, so long as I stay +in this life I am quit of that man, but if I die--there is Filon. So +will he do unto me all that I did at the ford of Crevecoeur, and more; +for he is a bad one, Filon. Therefore it is as I tell you, M'siu, I, +Raoul. By the help of God. Yes. + + + + +A CALIFORNIAN + +BY + +GERALDINE BONNER + +From _Harper's Magazine_ _Copyright_, 1905, by Harper and Brothers + + +IT WAS nearly ten o'clock when Jack Faraday ascended the steps of Madame +Delmonti's bow-windowed mansion and pressed the electric bell. He was a +little out of breath and nervous, for, being young and a stranger to San +Francisco, and almost a stranger to Madame Delmonti, he did not exactly +know at what hour his hostess's _conversazione_ might begin, and had +upon him the young man's violent dread of being conspicuously early or +conspicuously late. + +It did not seem that he was either. As he stood in the doorway and +surveyed the field, he felt, with a little rising breath of relief, that +no one appeared to take especial notice of him. Madame Delmonti's rooms +were lit with a great blaze of gas, which, thrown back from many long +mirrors and the gold mountings of a quantity of furniture and picture +frames, made an effect of dazzling yellow brightness, as brilliantly +glittering as the transformation scene of a pantomime. + +In the middle of the glare Madame Delmonti's company had disposed +themselves in a circle, which had some difficulty in accommodating +itself to the long narrow shape of the drawing-room. Now and then an +obstinate sofa or extra large plush-covered arm-chair broke the +harmonious curve of the circle, and its occupant looked furtively ill at +ease, as if she felt the embarrassment of her position in not conforming +to the general harmony of the curving line. + +The eyes of the circle were fixed on a figure at the piano, near the end +of the room--a tall dark Jewess in a brown dress and wide hat, who was +singing with that peculiar vibrant richness of tone that is so often +heard in the voices of the Californian Jewesses. She was perfectly +self-possessed, and her velvet eyes, as her impassioned voice rose a +little, rested on Jack Faraday with a cheerful but not very lively +interest. Then they swept past him to where on a sofa, quite out of the +circle, two women sat listening. + +One was a young girl, large, well-dressed, and exceedingly handsome; the +other a peaked lady, passee and thin, with her hair bleached to a canary +yellow. The Jewess, still singing, smiled at them, and the girl gave +back a lazy smile in return. Then as the song came to a deep and mellow +close, Madame Delmonti, with a delicate rustling of silk brushing +against silk, swept across the room and greeted her guest. + +Madame Delmonti was an American, very rich, a good deal made up, but +still pretty, and extremely well preserved. Signor Delmonti, an Italian +baritone, whom she had married, and supported ever since, was useful +about the house, as he now proved by standing at a little table and +ladling punch into small glasses, which were distributed among the +guests by the two little Delmonti girls in green silk frocks. Madame +Delmonti, with her rouged cheeks and merry grey eyes, as full of sparkle +as they had been twenty years ago, was very cordial to her guest, asking +him, as they stood in the doorway, whom he would best like to meet. + +"Maud Levy, who has been singing," she said, "is one of the belles in +Hebrew society. She has a fine voice. You have no objection, Mr. +Faraday, to knowing Jews?" + +Faraday hastily disclaimed all race prejudices, and she continued, +discreetly designating the ladies on the sofa: + +"There are two delightful girls. Mrs. Peck, the blonde, is the society +writer for the _Morning Trumpet_. She is an elegant woman of a very fine +Southern family, but she has had misfortunes. Her marriage was unhappy. +She and Peck are separated now, and she supports herself and her two +children. There was no hope of getting alimony out of that man." + +"And that is Genevieve Ryan beside her," Madame Delmonti went on. "I +think you'd like Genevieve. She's a grand girl. Her father, you know, is +Barney Ryan, one of our millionaires. He made his money in a quick turn +in Con. Virginia, but before that he used to drive the Marysville coach, +and he was once a miner. He's crazy about Genevieve and gives her five +hundred a month to dress on. I'm sure you'll get on very well together. +She's such a refined, pleasant girl"----and Madame Delmonti, chattering +her praises of Barney Ryan's handsome daughter, conducted the stranger +to the shrine. + +Miss. Genevieve smiled upon him, much as she had upon the singer, and +brushing aside her skirts of changeable green and heliotrope silk, +showed him a little golden-legged chair beside her. Mrs. Peck and Madame +Delmonti conversed with unusual insight and knowledge on the singing of +Maud Levy, and Faraday was left to conduct the conversation with the +heiress of Barney Ryan. + +She was a large, splendid-looking girl, very much corseted, with an +ivory-tinted skin, eyes as clear as a young child's and smooth freshly +red lips. She was a good deal powdered on the bridge of her nose, and +her rich hair was slightly tinted with some reddish dye. She was a +picture of health and material well being. Her perfectly fitting clothes +sat with wrinkleless exactitude over a figure which in its generous +breadth and finely curved outline might have compared with that of the +Venus of Milo. She let her eyes, shadowed slightly by the white lace +edge of her large hat, whereon two pink roses trembled on large stalks, +dwell upon Faraday with a curious and frank interest entirely devoid of +coquetry. Her manner, almost boyish in its simple directness, showed the +same absence of this feminine trait. While she looked like a goddess +dressed by Worth, she seemed merely a good-natured, phlegmatic girl just +emerging from her teens. + +Faraday had made the first commonplaces of conversation, when she asked, +eyeing him closely, "Do you like it out here?" + +"Oh, immensely," he responded, politely. "It's such a fine climate." + +"It is a good climate," admitted Miss. Ryan, with unenthusiastic +acquiescence; "but we are not so proud of that as we are of the good +looks of the Californian women. Don't you think the women are handsome?" + +Faraday looked into her clear and earnest eyes. + +"Oh splendid," he answered, "especially their eyes." + +Miss. Ryan appeared to demur to this commendation. "It's generally said +by strangers that their figures are unusually handsome. Do you think +they are?" + +Faraday agreed to this too. + +"The girls in the East," said Miss. Ryan, sitting upright with a +creaking sound, and drawing her gloves through one satin-smooth, +bejeweled hand, "are very thin, aren't they? Here, I sometimes +think"--she raised her eyes to his in deep and somewhat anxious +query--"that they are too fat?" + +Faraday gallantly scouted the idea. He said the California woman was a +goddess. For the first time in the interview Miss. Ryan gave a little +laugh. + +"That's what all you Eastern men say," she said. "They're always telling +me I'm a goddess. Even the Englishmen say that." + +"Well," answered Faraday, surprised at his own boldness, "what they say +is true." + +Miss. Ryan silently eyed him for a speculating moment; then, averting +her glance, said, pensively: "Perhaps so; but I don't think it's so +stylish to be a goddess as it is to be very slim. And then, you +know----" Here she suddenly broke off, her eyes fixed upon the crowd of +ladies that blocked an opposite doorway in exeunt. "There's mommer. I +guess she must be going home, and I suppose I'd better go too, and not +keep her waiting." + +She rose as she spoke, and with a pat of her hand adjusted her +glimmering skirts. + +"Oh, Mr. Faraday," she said, as she peered down at them, "I hope you'll +give yourself the pleasure of calling on me. I'm at home almost any +afternoon after five, and Tuesday is my day. Come whenever you please. +I'll be real glad to see you, and I guess popper'd like to talk to you +about things in the East. He's been in Massachusetts too." + +She held out her large white hand and gave Faraday a vigorous +hand-shake. + +"I'm glad I came here tonight," she said, smiling. "I wasn't quite +decided, but I thought I'd better, as I had some things to tell Mrs. +Peck for next Sunday's _Trumpet_. If I hadn't come, I wouldn't have met +you. You needn't escort me to Madame Delmonti. I'd rather go by myself. +I'm not a bit a ceremonious person. Good-by. Be sure and come and see +me." + +She rustled away, exchanged farewells with Madame Delmonti, and, by a +movement of her head in his direction, appeared to be speaking of +Faraday; then joining a fur-muffled female figure near the doorway, +swept like a princess out of the room. + +For a week after Faraday's meeting with Miss. Genevieve Ryan, he had no +time to think of giving himself the pleasure of calling upon that fair +and flattering young lady. The position which he had come out from +Boston to fill was not an unusually exacting one, but Faraday, who was +troubled with a New England conscience, and a certain slowness in +adapting himself to new conditions of life, was too engrossed in +mastering the duties of his clerkship to think of loitering about the +chariot wheels of beauty. + +By the second week, however, he had shaken down into the new rut, and a +favorable opportunity presenting itself in a sunny Sunday afternoon, he +donned his black coat and high hat and repaired to the mansion of Barney +Ryan, on California Street. + +When Faraday approached the house, he felt quite timid, so imposingly +did this great structure loom up from the simpler dwellings which +surrounded it. Barney Ryan had built himself a palace, and ever since +the day he had first moved into it he had been anxious to move out. The +ladies of his family would not allow this, and so Barney endured his +grandeur as best he might. It was a great wooden house, with immense bay +windows thrown out on every side, and veiled within by long curtains of +heavy lace. The sweep of steps that spread so proudly from the portico +was flanked by two sleeping lions in stone, both appearing, by the +savage expressions which distorted their visages, to be suffering from +terrifying dreams. In the garden the spiked foliage of the dark, slender +dracaenas and the fringed fans of giant filamentosas grew luxuriantly +with tropical effect. + +The large drawing-room, long, and looking longer with its wide mirrors, +was even more golden than Mrs. Delmonti's. There were gold moldings +about the mirrors and gold mountings to the chairs. In deserts of gold +frames appeared small oases of oil-painting. Faraday, hat in hand, stood +some time in wavering indecision, wondering in which of the brocaded and +gilded chairs he would look least like a king in an historical play. He +was about to decide in favor of a pale blue satin settee, when a rustle +behind him made him turn and behold Miss. Genevieve magnificent in a +trailing robe of the faintest rose-pink and pearls, with diamond +ear-rings in her ears, and the powder that she had hastily rubbed on her +face still lying white on her long lashes. She smiled her rare smile as +she greeted him, and sitting down in one of the golden chairs, leaned +her head against the back, and said, looking at him from under lowered +lids: + +"Well, I thought you were never coming!" + +Faraday, greatly encouraged by this friendly reception, made his +excuses, and set the conversation going. After the weather had been +exhausted, the topic of the Californian in his social aspect came up. +Faraday, with some timidity, ventured a question on the fashionable life +in San Francisco. A shade passed over Miss. Ryan's open countenance. + +"You know, Mr. Faraday," she said, explanatorily, "I'm not exactly in +society." + +"No?" murmured Faraday, mightily surprised, and wondering what she was +going to say next. + +"Not exactly," continued Miss. Ryan, moistening her red under lip in a +pondering moment--"not exactly in fash'nable society. Of course we have +our friends. But gentlemen from the East that I've met have always been +so surprised when I told them that I didn't go out in the most +fash'nable circles. They always thought any one with money could get +right in it here." + +"Yes?" said Faraday, whose part of the conversation appeared to be +deteriorating into monosyllables. + +"Well, you know, that's not the case at all. With all popper's money, +we've never been able to get a real good footing. It seems funny to +outsiders, especially as popper and mommer have never been divorced or +anything. We've just lived quietly right here in the city always. But," +she said, looking tentatively at Faraday to see how he was going to take +the statement, "my father's a Northerner. He went back and fought in the +war." + +"You must be very proud of that," said Faraday, feeling that he could +now hazard a remark with safety. + +This simple comment, however, appeared to surprise the enigmatic Miss. +Ryan. + +"Proud of it?" she queried, looking in suspended doubt at Faraday. "Oh, +of course I'm proud that he was brave, and didn't run away or get +wounded; but if he'd been a Southerner we would have been in society +now." She looked pensively at Faraday. "All the fashionable people are +Southerners, you know. We would have been, too, if we'd have been +Southerners. It's being Northerners that really has been such a +drawback." + +"But your sympathies," urged Faraday, "aren't they with the North?" + +Miss. Ryan ran the pearl fringe of her tea-gown through her large, +handsome hands. "I guess so," she said, indifferently, as if she was +considering the subject for the first time; "but you can't expect me to +have any very violent sympathies about a war that was dead and buried +before I was born." + +"I don't believe you're a genuine Northerner, or Southerner either," +said Faraday, laughing. + +"I guess not," said the young lady, with the same placid indifference. +"An English gentleman whom I knew real well last year said the sympathy +of the English was all with the Southerners. He said they were the most +refined people in this country. He said they were thought a great deal +of in England?" She again looked at Faraday with her air of deprecating +query, as if she half expected him to contradict her. + +"Who was this extraordinarily enlightened being?" asked Faraday. + +"Mr. Harold Courtney, an elegant Englishman. They said his grandfather +was a Lord--Lord Hastings--but you never can be sure about those things. +I saw quite a good deal of him, and I sort of liked him, but he was +rather quiet. I think if he'd been an American we would have thought him +dull. Here they just said it was reserve. We all thought----" + +A footstep in the hall outside arrested her recital. The door of the +room was opened, and a handsome bonneted head appeared in the aperture. + +"Oh, Gen," said this apparition, hastily--"excuse me; I didn't know you +had your company in there?" + +"Come in, mommer," said Miss. Ryan, politely; "I want to make you +acquainted with Mr. Faraday. He's the gentleman I met at Madame +Delmonti's the other evening." + +Mrs. Ryan, accompanied by a rich rustling of silk, pushed open the door, +revealing herself to Faraday's admiring eyes as a fine-looking woman, +fresh in tint, still young, of a stately figure and imposing presence. +She was admirably dressed in a walking costume of dark green, and wore a +little black jet bonnet on her slightly waved bright brown hair. She met +the visitor with an extended hand and a frank smile of open pleasure. + +"Genevieve spoke to me of you, Mr. Faraday," she said, settling down +into a chair and removing her gloves. "I'm very glad you managed to get +around here." + +Faraday expressed his joy at having been able to accomplish the visit. + +"We don't have so many agreeable gentlemen callers," said Mrs. Ryan, +"that we can afford to overlook a new one. If you've been in society, +you've perhaps noticed, Mr. Faraday, that gentlemen are somewhat +scarce." + +Faraday said he had not been in society, therefore had not observed the +deficiency. Mrs. Ryan, barely allowing him time to complete his +sentence, continued, vivaciously: + +"Well, Mr. Faraday, you'll see it later. We entertainers don't know what +we are going to do for the lack of gentlemen. When we give parties we +ask the young gentlemen, and they all come; but they won't dance, they +won't talk, they won't do anything but eat and drink and they never +think of paying their party calls. It's disgraceful, Mr. Faraday," said +Mrs. Ryan, smiling brightly--"disgraceful!" + +Faraday said he had heard that in the East the hostess made the same +complaint. Mrs. Ryan, with brilliant fixed eyes, gave him a +breathing-space to reply in, and then started off again, with a +confirmatory nod of her head: + +"Precisely, Mr. Faraday--just the case here. At Genevieve's debut +party--an elegant affair--Mrs. Peck said she'd never seen a finer +entertainment in this city--canvas floors, four musicians, champagne +flowing like water. My husband, Mr. Faraday believes in giving the best +at his entertainments; there's not a mean bone in Barney Ryan's body. +Why, the men all got into the smoking-room, lit their cigars, and smoked +there, and in the ballroom were the girls sitting around the walls, and +not more than half a dozen partners for them. I tell you, Mr. Ryan was +mad. He just went up there, and told them to get up and dance or get up +and go home----he didn't much care which. There's no fooling with Mr. +Ryan when he's roused. You remember how mad popper was that night, Gen?" + +Miss. Ryan nodded an assent, her eyes full of smiling reminiscence. She +had listened to her mother's story with unmoved attention and evident +appreciation. "Next time we have a party," she said, looking smilingly +at Faraday, "Mr. Faraday can come and see for himself." + +"I guess it'll be a long time before we have another like that," said +Mrs. Ryan, somewhat grimly, rising as Faraday rose to take his leave. +"Not but what," she added, hastily, fearing her remark had seemed +ungracious, "we'll hope Mr. Faraday will come without waiting for +parties." + +"But we've had one since then," said Miss. Ryan, as she placed her hand +in his in the pressure of farewell, "that laid all over that first one." + +Having been pressed to call by both mother and daughter, and having told +himself that Genevieve Ryan was "an interesting study," Faraday, after +some hesitation, paid a second visit to the Ryan mansion. Upon this +occasion the Chinese servant, murmuring unintelligibly, showed a rooted +aversion to his entering. Faraday, greatly at sea, wondering vaguely if +the terrible Barney Ryan had issued a mandate to his hireling to refuse +him admittance, was about to turn and depart, when the voice of Mrs. +Ryan in the hall beyond arrested him. Bidden to open the door, the +Mongolian reluctantly did so and Faraday was admitted. + +"Sing didn't want to let you in," said Mrs. Ryan when they had gained +the long gold drawing-room, "because Genevieve was out. He never lets +any gentlemen in when she's not at home. He thinks I'm too old to have +them come to see me." + +Then they sat down, and after a little preliminary chat on the Chinese +character and the Californian climate, Mrs. Ryan launched forth into her +favorite theme of discourse. + +"Genevieve will be so sorry to miss you," she said; "she's always so +taken by Eastern gentlemen. They admire her, too, immensely. I can't +tell you of the compliments we've heard directly and indirectly that +they've paid her. Of course I can see that she's an unusually +fine-looking girl, and very accomplished. Mr. Ryan and I have spared +nothing in her education--nothing. At Madame de Vivier's academy for +young ladies--one of the most select in the State--Madame's husband's +one of the French nobility, and she always had to support him--Genevieve +took every extra--music, languages, and drawing. Professor Rodriguez, +who taught her the guitar, said that never outside of Spain had he heard +such a touch. 'Senora,' he says to me--that's his way of expressing +himself, and it sounds real cute the way he says it--'Senora, is there +not some Spanish blood in this child? No one without Spanish blood +could touch the strings that way.' Afterwards when Demaroni taught her +the mandolin, it was just the same. He could not believe she had not had +teaching before. Then Madame Mezzenott gave her a term's lessons on the +bandurria, and she said there never was such talent; she might have made +a fortune on the concert stage." + +"Yes, undoubtedly," Faraday squeezed in, as Mrs. Ryan drew a breath. + +"Indeed, Mr. Faraday, everybody has remarked her talents. It isn't you +alone. All the Eastern gentlemen we have met have said that the musical +talents of the Californian young ladies were astonishing They all agree +that Genevieve's musical genius is remarkable. Everybody declares that +there is no one--not among the Spaniards themselves--who sings _La +Paloma_ as Gen does. Professor Spighetti instructed her in that. He was +a wonderful teacher. I never saw such a method. But we had to give him +up because he fell in love with Gen. That's the worst of it--the +teachers are always falling in love with her; and with her prospects and +position we naturally expect something better. Of course it's been very +hard to keep her. I say to Mr. Ryan, as each winter comes to an end, +'Well, popper, another season's over and we've still got our Gen.' We +feel that we can't be selfish and hope to keep her always, and, with so +many admirers, we realize that we must soon lose her, and try to get +accustomed to the idea." + +"Of course, of course," murmured Faraday, sympathetically, mentally +picturing Mrs. Ryan keeping away the suitors as Rizpah kept the eagles +and vultures off her dead sons. + +"There was a Mr. Courtney who was very attentive last year. His +grandfather was an English lord. We had to buy a _Peerage_ to find out +if he was genuine, and, as he was, we had him quite often to the house. +He paid Genevieve a good deal of attention, but toward the end of the +season he said he had to go back to England and see his grandfather--his +father was dead--and left without saying anything definite. He told me +though, that he was coming back. I fully expect he will, though Mr. Ryan +doesn't seem to think so. Genevieve felt rather put out about it for a +time. She thought he hadn't been upright to see her so constantly and +not say anything definite. But she doesn't understand the subserviency +of Englishmen to their elders. You know, we have none of that in this +country. If my son Eddie wanted to marry a typewriter, Mr. Ryan could +never prevent it. I fully expect to see Mr. Courtney again. I'd like you +to meet him, Mr. Faraday. I think you'd agree very well. He's just such +a quiet, reserved young man as you." + +When, after this interview, Faraday descended the broad steps between +the sleeping lions, he did not feel so good-tempered as he had done +after his first visit. He recalled to mind having heard that Mrs. Ryan, +before her marriage, had been a schoolteacher, and he said to himself +that if she had no more sense then than she had now, her pupils must +have received a fearful and wonderful education. + +At Madame Delmonti's _conversazione_, given a few evenings later, +Faraday again saw Miss. Ryan. On the first of these occasions this +independent young lady was dressed simply in a high-necked gown and a +hat. This evening with her habitual disregard of custom and convention, +some whim had caused her to array herself in full gala attire, and, +habited in a gorgeous costume of white silk and yellow velvet, with a +glimmer of diamonds round the low neck, she was startling in her large +magnificence. + +Jack Faraday approached her somewhat awe-stricken, but her gravely +boyish manner immediately put him at his ease. Talking with her over +commonplaces, he wondered what she would say if she knew of her mother's +conversation with him. As if in answer to the unspoken thought, she +suddenly said fixing him with intent eyes: + +"Mommer said she told you of Mr. Courtney. Do you think he'll come +back?" + +Faraday, his breath taken away by the suddenness of the attack, felt the +blood run to his hair, and stammered a reply. + +"Well, you know," she said, leaning toward him confidentially, "I +_don't_. Mommer is possessed with the idea that he will. But neither +popper nor I think so. I got sort of annoyed with the way he +acted--hanging about for a whole winter, and then running away to see +his grandfather, like a little boy ten years old! I like men that are +their own masters. But I suppose I would have married him. You see, he +would have been a lord when his grandfather died. It was genuine--we saw +it in the _Peerage_." + +She looked into Faraday's eyes. Her own were as clear and deep as +mountain springs. Was Miss. Genevieve Ryan the most absolutely honest +and outspoken young woman that had ever lived, or was she some subtle +and unusual form of Pacific Slope coquette? + +"Popper was quite mad about it," she continued. "He thought Mr. Courtney +was an ordinary sort of person, anyway. I didn't. I just thought him +dull, and I suppose he couldn't help that. Mommer wanted to go over to +England last summer. She thought we might stumble on him over there. But +popper wouldn't let her do it. He sent us to Alaska instead." She +paused, and gave a smiling bow to an acquaintance. "Doesn't Mrs. Peck +look sweet tonight?" She designated the society editress of the _Morning +Trumpet_, whose fragile figure was encased in a pale blue Empire +costume. "And that lady over by the door, with the gold crown in her +hair, the stout one in red, is Mrs. Wheatley, a professional Delsarte +teacher. She's a great friend of mine and gives me Delsarte twice a +week." + +And Miss. Genevieve Ryan nodded to the dispenser of "Delsarte," a large +and florid woman, who, taking her stand under a spreading palm tree, +began to declaim "The Portrait" of Owen Meredith, and in the recital of +the dead lady's iniquitous conduct the conversation was brought to a +close. + +From its auspicious opening, Faraday's acquaintance with the Ryans +ripened and developed with a speed which characterizes the growth of +friendship and of fruit in the genial Californian atmosphere. Almost +before he felt that he had emerged from the position of a stranger he +had slipped into that of an intimate. He fell into the habit of visiting +the Ryan mansion on California Street on Sunday afternoons. It became a +custom for him to dine there _en famille_ at least once a week. The +simplicity and light-hearted good-nature of these open-handed and +kindly people touched and charmed him. There was not a trace of the snob +in Faraday. He accepted the lavish and careless hospitality of Barney +Ryan's "palatial residence," as the newspapers delighted to call it, +with a spirit as frankly pleased as that in which it was offered. + +He came of an older civilization than that which had given Barney Ryan's +daughter her frankness and her force, and it did not cross his mind that +the heiress of millions might cast tender eyes upon the penniless sons +of New England farmers. He said to himself with impatient recklessness +that he ought not to and would not fall in love with her. There was too +great a distance between them. It would be King Cophetua and the +beggar-maid reversed. Clerks at one hundred and fifty dollars a month +were not supposed to aspire to only daughters of bonanza kings in the +circle from which Faraday had come. So he visited the Ryans, assuring +himself that he was a friend of the family, who would dance at Miss +Genevieve's wedding with the lightest of hearts. + +The Chinese butler had grown familiar with Faraday's attractive +countenance and his unabbreviated English, when late one warm and sunny +afternoon the young man pulled the bell of the great oaken door of the +Ryans' lion-guarded home. In answer to his queries for the ladies, he +learned that they were out; but the Mongolian functionary, after +surveying him charily through the crack of the door, admitted that Mr. +Ryan was within, and conducted the visitor into his presence. + +Barney Ryan, suffering from a slight sprain in his ankle, sat at ease in +a little sitting-room in the back of the house. Mr. Ryan, being +irritable and in some pain, the women-folk had relaxed the severity of +their dominion, and allowed him to sit unchecked in his favorite costume +for the home circle--shirt sleeves and a tall beaver hat. Beside him on +the table stood bare and undecorated array of bottles, a glass, and a +silver water-pitcher. + +Mr. Ryan was now some years beyond sixty, but had that tremendous vigor +of frame and constitution that distinguished the pioneers--an attribute +strangely lacking in their puny and degenerate sons. This short and +chunky old man, with his round, thick head, bristling hair and beard, +and huge red neck, had still a fiber as tough as oak. He looked coarse, +uncouth, and stupid, but in his small gray eyes shone the alert and +unconquerable spirit which marked the pioneers as the giants of the +West, and which had carried him forward over every obstacle to the +summit of his ambitions. Barney Ryan was restless in his confinement; +for, despite his age and the completeness of his success, his life was +still with the world of men where the bull-necked old miner was a king. +At home the women rather domineered over him, and unconsciously made him +feel his social deficiencies. At home, too, the sorrow and the pride of +his life were always before him--his son, a weak and dissipated boy; and +his daughter, who had inherited his vigor and his spirit with a beauty +that had descended to her from some forgotten peasant girl of the Irish +bogs. + +Faraday, with his power of listening interminably, and his intelligent +comments, was a favorite of old Ryan's. He greeted him with a growling +welcome; and then, civilities being interchanged, called to the +Chinaman for another glass. This menial, rubbing off the long mirrors +that decorated the walls, would not obey the mandate till it had been +roared at him by the wounded lion in a tone which made the chandelier +rattle. + +"I never can make those infernal idiots understand me," said old Ryan, +plaintively. "They won't do a thing I tell them. It takes the old lady +to manage 'em. She makes them skip." + +Then after some minutes of discourse on more or less uninteresting +matters, the weary old man, glad of a listener, launched forth into +domestic topics. + +"Gen and the old lady are out buying new togs. I got a letter here +that'll astonish them when they get back. It's from that English cuss, +Courtney. D'ye ever hear about him? He was hanging about Genevieve all +last winter. And this letter says he's coming back, that his +grandfather's dead, and he's a lord now, and he's coming back. Do you +mind that now, Faraday?" he said, looking with eyes full of humor at the +young man. + +Faraday expressed a sharp surprise. + +"You know, Jack," continued the old man, "we're trained up to having +these high-priced Englishmen come out here and eat our dinners, and +sleep in our spare rooms, and drink our wines and go home, and when they +meet us there forget they've ever seen us before; but we ain't trained +up to havin' 'em come back this way, and it's hard to get accustomed to +it." + +"It's not surprising," said Faraday, coldly. + +"I'm not so dead sure of that. But I can tell you the old lady'll be +wild about this." + +"Does Mrs. Ryan like him so much?" said the visitor, still coldly. + +"All women like a lord, and Mrs. Ryan ain't different from the rest of +her sex. She's dead stuck on Gen marrying him. I'm not myself, Jack. I'm +no Anglomaniac; an American's good enough for me. I'm not spoiling to +see my money going to patch up the roof of the ancestral castle of the +Courtneys, or pay their ancestral debts--not by a long chalk." + +"Do you think he's coming back to borrow money from you to pay off the +ancestral debts?" asked Faraday. + +"Not to borrow, Jack. Oh no, not to borrow--to get it for keeps--it, and +Genevieve with it. And I don't just see how I'm to prevent it. Gen don't +seem to care much, but the old lady's got it on her mind that she'd like +to have a lord in the family, no matter how high they come; and she can +work on Gen. Last summer she wanted to go after him--wanted to track him +to his lair; but I thought she might's well stop there, and put m' foot +down. Gen don't seem to care about him one way or the other, but then +'Lady Genevieve' sounds pretty nice----" + +Here a rustle of millinery, approaching through the drawing-room beyond, +cut short old Ryan's confidences. Faraday stood up to receive the +ladies, who entered jubilant and unwearied from an afternoon's shopping. +Genevieve, a magnificent princess, with the air of fashion given by +perfectly setting clothes, much brown fur and velvet, a touch of yellow +lace, and a quantity of fresh violets pinned to her corsage, looked as +if she would make a very fine Lady Genevieve. + +As soon as she heard the news she demanded the letter, and perused it +intently, Faraday covertly watching her. Raising her eyes, she met his +and said, with a little mocking air, "Well, Mr. Faraday, and what do you +think of that?" + +"That your mother seems to have been right," said Faraday, steadily +eyeing her. An expression of chagrin and disappointment, rapid but +unmistakable, crossed her face, dimming its radiance like a breath on a +mirror. She gave a little toss to her head, and turning away toward an +adjacent looking-glass, took off her veil and settled her hat. + +Mrs. Ryan watched her with glowing pride already seeing her in fancy a +member of the British aristocracy; but old Ryan looked rather downcast, +as he generally did when confronted by the triumphant gorgeousness of +the feminine members of his household. Faraday, too, experienced a +sudden depression of spirits so violent and so uncalled for that if he +had had room for any other feeling he would have been intensely +surprised. Barney Ryan, at the prospect of having to repair the breaches +in the Courtney exchequer and ancestral roof-tree, may have experienced +a pardonable dejection. But why should Faraday, who assured himself a +dozen times a day that he merely admired Miss. Genevieve, as any man +might admire a charming and handsome girl, feel so desperate a +despondency? + +To prove to himself that his gloom did not rise from the cause that he +knew it did rise from, Faraday continued to be a constant guest at the +Ryan mansion, continued to see Miss. Genevieve at Madame Delmonti's and +at the other small social gatherings, where the presentable young New +Englander found himself quite a lion. When Mrs. Ryan saw him alone she +flattered his superior intelligence and experience of the world by +asking his opinion of the approaching Lord Hastings's matrimonial plans. +This frank and outspoken lady was on the thorns of uncertainty, Lord +Hastings's flight on his former visit having shaken her faith in him. +Quite unconsciously she impressed upon Faraday how completely both she +and Genevieve had come to trust him as a tried friend. + +With the exaltation of a knight of old, Faraday felt that their trust +would never be misplaced. He answered Mrs. Ryan's anxious queries with +all the honesty of the calmest friendship. Alone in the great gold +drawing-room, he talked to Genevieve on books, on music, on fashion, on +society--on all subjects but that of love. And all the while he felt +like the nightingale who sings its sweetest music while pressing its +breast against a thorn. + +Lord Hastings seemed to have lost no time in repairing to the side of +the fair lady who was supposed to be the object of his fondest +devotions, and whom destiny appeared to have selected as the renovator +of Courtney Manor. Four weeks from the day Faraday had heard of his +intended visit, the Bostonian received a letter from Mrs. Ryan bidding +him to dinner to meet the illustrious guest. It seemed to Faraday that +to go to see the newcomer in converse with Genevieve, beautiful in her +costliest robes, to view the approving smiles of Mrs. Ryan, and perhaps +the happy blushes of Miss. Ryan, was the manly upright course for one +who could never be more than the avowed friend and silent worshipper of +Barney Ryan's only daughter. + +Arriving ten minutes late, he found the party already at the table. It +was an inflexible rule of Barney Ryan's to sit down to dinner at the +stroke of half-past six, whether his guests were assembled or not--a +rule which even his wife's cajoleries and commands were powerless to +combat. + +Tonight the iron old man might well regard with pride the luxury and +splendor that crowned a turbulent career begun in nipping poverty. The +round table, glowing beneath the lights of the long crystal chandeliers, +sparkled with cut-glass, and shone with antique silverware, while in the +center a mass of pale purple orchids spread their fragile crepe-like +petals from a fringe of fern. Opposite him, still unfaded, superbly +dressed, and admirably self-possessed, was his smiling consort, toward +whom, whatever his pride in her might have been, his feelings this +evening were somewhat hostile, as the ambitious and determined lady had +forced him to don regulation evening dress, arrayed in which Barney's +peace of mind and body both fled. + +On either side of the table sat his son and daughter, the latter +handsomer than Faraday had ever seen her, her heavy dress of +ivory-tinted silk no whiter than her neck, a diamond aigret trembling +like spray in her hair. Her brother Eddie, a year and a half her senior, +looked as if none of the blood of this vigorous strong-thewed, sturdy +stock could run in his veins. He was a pale and sickly looking lad, with +a weak, vulgar face, thin hair and red eyelids. Faraday had only seen +him once or twice before, and judged from remarks made to him by +acquaintances of the family that Eddie did not often honor the parental +roof with his presence. Eddie's irregular career appeared to be the one +subject on which the family maintained an immovable and melancholy +reserve. The disappointment in his only son was the bitter drop in +Barney Ryan's cup. + +There were other guests at the table. Faraday received a coy bow from +Mrs. Peck, who had given her hair an extra bleaching for this occasion, +till her pinched and powdered little face looked out from under an +orange-colored thatch; Mrs. Wheatley was there too, with a suggestion of +large white shoulders shining through veilings of black gauze; and with +an air of stately pride, Mrs. Ryan presented him to Lord Hastings. This +young man, sitting next Genevieve, was a tall, fair, straight-featured +Englishman of gravely unresponsive manners. In the severe perfection of +his immaculate evening dress he looked a handsome, well-bred young +fellow of twenty-five or six. + +As the late guest dropped into his seat, the interrupted conversation +regathered and flowed again. Barney Ryan said nothing. He never spoke +while eating, and rarely talked when women were present. Genevieve too +was quiet, responding with a gently absent smile, when her cavalier, +turning upon her his cold and expressionless steely-blue eyes, addressed +to her some short regulation remark on the weather, or the boredom of +his journey across the plains. The phlegmatic calm of his demeanor +remained intact even under the coquettish onslaughts of Mrs. Peck and +Mrs. Wheatley, who extracted from him with wheedling perseverance his +opinions on the State, the climate, and the country. Lord Hastings +replied with iron-bound and unsmiling brevity, his wide cold glance +resting with motionless attention upon the painted physiognomy of Mrs. +Peck and the broad and buxom one of Mrs. Wheatley, and his head turning +with dignified difficulty in his exceedingly high and tight collar, as +one and the other assailed him with queries. Meanwhile the object of his +journey, slowly moving her great fan of white ostrich feathers, looked +across the table at Faraday and made a little surreptitious _moue_. + +The conversation soon became absorbed by the two married ladies, +Faraday, and Lord Hastings. Only the Ryans were silent, Genevieve now +and then throwing a lazy sentence into the vortex of talk, and Mrs. Ryan +being occupied in lending a proud ear to the coruscations of wit that +sparkled around the board, or in making covert gestures to the +soft-footed Mongols, who moved with deft noiselessness about the table. +Eddie Ryan, like his father, rarely spoke in society. In the glare of +the chandelier he sat like a strange uncomfortable guest, taking no +notice of any one. Toward the end of the feast he conversed in urgent +whispers with his mother--a conversation which ended in her +surreptitiously giving him her keys under the edge of the table. Before +coffee, Eddie left, on the plea of an important engagement, retiring +through the drawing-room, softly jingling the keys. + +After this dinner, when Lord Hastings's presence had banished all his +doubts, when the young Englishman's attractive appearance had impressed +itself upon his jealous eye, and Genevieve's gentle indifference had +seemed to him but a modest form of encouragement. Faraday found but +little time to pay visits to the hospitable home of Barney Ryan. + +The family friend that they had all so warmly welcomed and taken to +their hearts withdrew himself quietly but firmly from their cheerful +circle. When, at rare intervals, he did drop in upon them, he pleaded +important business engagements as the reason of his inability to accept +their numerous invitations to dinners and theater parties. After these +mendacious statements he would wend a gloomy way homeward to his Pine +Street boarding-house, and there spend the evening pretending to read, +and cursing the fate which had ever brought him within the light of +Genevieve's _beaux yeux_. The fable of being the family friend was quite +shattered. Faraday had capitulated. + +Nearly two months after the dinner, when rumors of Genevieve Ryan's +engagement to Lord Hastings were in lively circulation, Faraday called +at the lion-guarded mansion on California Street, and, in answering to +his regulation request for the ladies, received the usual unintelligible +Chinese rejoinder, and was shown into the gold drawing-room. There, +standing in front of a long mirror, looking at her skirts with an eye of +pondering criticism, was Miss Genevieve, dressed to go out. She caught +sight of him in the glass, turned abruptly, and came forward, a color in +her face. + +"Is that you?" she said, holding out her hand. "I am so glad. I thought +it was somebody else." Having thus, with her customary candor, +signified to Faraday that she was expecting Lord Hastings, she sat down +facing him, and said, abruptly, "Why haven't you been here for so long?" + +Faraday made the usual excuses, and did quail before her cold and steady +eyes. + +"That's rather funny," she said, as he concluded "for now you're used to +your new position, and it must go more easily, and yet you have less +time to see your friends than you did at first." + +Faraday made more excuses, and wondered that she should take a cruel +pleasure in such small teasing. + +"I thought p'r'aps," she said, still regarding him with an unflinching +scrutiny, her face grave and almost hard, "that you'd begun to find us +too Western, that the novelty had worn off, that our ways were +too--too--what shall I say?--too wild and woolly." + +A flush of anger ran over Faraday's face. "Your suppositions were +neither just nor true," he said, coldly. + +"Oh, I don't know," she continued, with a careless movement of her head, +and speaking in the high, indifferent tone that a woman adopts when she +wishes to be exasperating; "you needn't get mad. Lots of Eastern people +feel that way. They come out here and see us constantly, and make +friends with us, and then go back and laugh at us, and tell their +friends what barbarians we are. It's customary, and nothing to be +ashamed of." + +"Do you suppose that I am that sort of an Eastern person?" asked +Faraday, quietly. + +"I don't know," she said, doubtfully. "I didn't think you were at first, +but now----" + +"But now you do. Why?" + +"Because you don't come here any more," she said, with a little air of +triumph. "You're tired of us. The novelty is over and so are the +visits." + +Faraday arose, too bitterly annoyed for speech. Genevieve, rising too, +and touching her skirts with arranging hand, continued, apparently +unconscious of the storm she was rousing: + +"And yet it seems odd that you should find such a difference. Lord +Hastings, now, who's English, and much more conventional, thinks the +people here just as refined and particular as any other Americans." + +"It's evident," said Faraday, in a voice roughened with anger, "that +Lord Hastings's appreciation of the refinement of the Americans is only +equaled by your admiration for the talents of the English." + +"I do like them," said Genevieve, dubiously, shaking her head, as if she +was admitting a not entirely creditable taste, and looking away from +him. + +There was a moment's silence. Faraday fastened his eyes upon her in a +look of passionate confession that in its powerful pleading drew her own +back to his. + +"You're as honest as you are cruel," he said, almost in a whisper. + +She made no reply, but turned her head sharply away, as if in sudden +embarrassment. Then, in answer to his conventionally murmured good-byes, +she looked back, and he saw her face radiant, alight, with the most +beautiful smile trembling on the lips. The splendor of this look seemed +to him a mute expression of her happiness--of love reciprocated, +ambition realized--and in it he read his own doom. He turned blindly +round to pick up his hat; the door behind him was opened, and there, +handsome, debonair, fresh as a May morning, stood Lord Hastings, hat in +hand. + +"I hope you're not vexed, Miss. Ryan," said this young man, "but I'm +very much afraid I'm just a bit late." + +After this Faraday thought it quite unnecessary to visit Barney Ryan's +"palatial mansion" for some time. Genevieve's engagement would soon be +announced, and then he would have to go and offer his congratulations. +As to whether he would dance at her wedding with a light heart--that was +another matter. He assured himself that she was making a splendid and +eminently suitable marriage. With her beauty and money and true simple +heart she would deck the fine position which the Englishman could give +her. He wished her every happiness, but that he should stand by and +watch the progress of the courtship seemed to him an unnecessary +twisting of the knife in the wound. Even the endurance of New England +human nature has its limits, and Faraday could stand no more. So he +refused an invitation to a tea from Mrs. Ryan, and one to a dinner and +another to a small musical from Miss. Ryan, and alone in his Pine Street +lodgings, for the first time in his life, read the "social columns" with +a throbbing heart. + +One Saturday afternoon, two weeks from the day that he had last seen +Genevieve, he sat in his room trying to read. He had left the office +early, and though it was still some hours before dark, a heavy +unremitting rain had enveloped the afternoon in a premature twilight. +The perpetual run of water from a break in the gutter near his window +sounded drearily through the depressing history of the woes and +disappointments of David Grieve. The gloom of the book and the afternoon +was settling upon Faraday with the creeping stealthiness of a chill, +when a knock sounded upon his door, and one of the servants without +acquainted him with the surprising piece of intelligence that a lady was +waiting to see him in the sitting-room below. + +As he entered the room, dim with the heavy somberness of the leaden +atmosphere, he saw his visitor standing looking out of the window--a +tall, broad-shouldered, small-waisted striking figure, with a neat black +turban crowning her closely braided hair. At his step she turned, and +revealed the gravely handsome face of Genevieve Ryan. He made no attempt +to take her hand, but murmured a regulation sentence of greeting; then, +looking into her eyes, saw for the first time that handsome face marked +with strong emotion. Miss. Ryan was shaken from her phlegmatic calm; her +hand trembled on the back of the chair before her; the little knot of +violets in her dress vibrated to the beating of her heart. + +"This is not a very conventional thing to do," she said, with her usual +ignoring of all preamble, "but I can't help that. I had something to +talk to you about, Mr. Faraday, and as you would not come to see me, I +had to come to see you." + +"What is it that you wanted to see me about?" asked Faraday, standing +motionless, and feeling in the sense of oppression and embarrassment +that seemed to weigh upon them both the premonition of an approaching +crisis. + +She made no answer for a moment, but stood looking down, as if in an +effort to choose her words or collect her thoughts, the violets in her +dress rising and falling with her quickened breathing. + +"It's rather hard to know how to say--anything," she said at length. + +"If I can do anything for you," said the young man, "you know it would +always be a happiness to me to serve you." + +"Oh, it's not a message or a favor," she said, hastily. "I only wanted +to say something"--she paused in great embarrassment--"but it's even +more queer more unusual, than my coming here." + +Faraday made no response, and for a space both were silent. Then she +said, speaking with a peculiar low distinctness: + +"The last time I saw you I seemed very disagreeable. I wanted to make +sure of something. I wanted to make sure that you were fond of me--to +surprise it out of you. Well--I did it. You are fond of me. I made you +show it to me." She raised her eyes, brilliant and dark, and looked into +his. "If you were to swear to me now that I was wrong I would know you +were not telling the truth," she said, with proud defiance. "You love +me." + +"Yes," said Faraday, slowly, "I do. What then?" + +"What then?" she repeated. "Why do you go away--go away from me?" + +"Because," he answered, "I am too much of a man to live within sight of +the woman I love and can never hope for." + +"Can never hope for?" she exclaimed, aghast. "Are you--are you married?" + +The sudden horror on her face was a strange thing for Faraday to see. + +"No," he said, "I am not married." + +"Then, did she tell you that you never could hope for her?" said Miss. +Genevieve Ryan, in a tremulous voice. + +"No. It was not necessary. I knew myself." + +"You did yourself a wrong, and her too," she broke out, passionately. +"You should have told her, and given her a chance to say--to say what +she has a right to say, without making her come to you, with her love in +her hand, to offer it to you as if she was afraid you were going to +throw it back in her face. It's bad enough being a woman anyway, but to +have the feelings of a woman, and then have to say a thing like +this--it's--it's--ghastly." + +"Genevieve!" breathed Faraday. + +"Why don't you understand?" she continued, desperately. "You won't see +it. You make me come here and tell it to you this way. I may be badly +mannered and unconventional, but I have feelings and pride like other +women. But what else could I do?" + +Her voice suddenly broke into soft appeal, and she held out her hands +toward him with a gesture as spontaneous in its pleading tenderness as +though made by a child. Faraday was human. He dashed away the chair that +stood between them and clasped the trembling hands in his. + +"Why is it," she asked, looking into his face with shining troubled +eyes--"why is it you acted this way? Was it Lord Hastings? I refused +him two weeks ago. I thought I'd marry him once, but that was before I +knew you. Then I waited for you, and you didn't come, and I wrote to +you, and you wouldn't come. And so I had to come and tell you myself, +and it's been something dreadful." + +Faraday made no response, but feeling the smooth hands curled warm +inside his, he stood listening to those soft accents that issued with +the sweetness that love alone lends to women's voices from lips he had +thought as far beyond his reach as the key of the rainbow. + +"Do you think it was awful for me to do it?" she queried, in whispering +anxiety. + +He shook his head. + +"Well," she said, laughing a little and turning her head half away, as +her former embarrassment began to reassert itself over her subsiding +nervousness, "I've often wished I was a man, but if it's always as awful +as that to propose to a person, I'm quite content to be a woman." + + + + +GIDEON'S KNOCK + +BY + +MARY HALLECK FOOTE + +Written for THE SPINNERS' BOOK OF FICTION + +_All Rights Reserved_ + + +BY A curious coincidence, whenever George Fleming was translated to a +wider berth, it was my luck to succeed him in the job he had just +quitted. This had happened more than once, in the chances and changes +that befall the younger men in the mining profession, before we began to +jolly each other about it--always at long range. + +When I heard he had resigned from the Consolidated Resumption, to +everybody's surprise, at a time of great prosperity to the mine, I +hailed my chance and congratulated myself that I should speedily be +asked to fill his place: and I was! + +I wrote him on the spot a playful letter, alluding to my long, stern +chase and begging him to hold on this time till I could shake him by the +hand; I had come to have a personal sentiment toward him apart from the +natural desire to meet face to face the author of my continued +advancement. But to this letter I received no word of reply. + +His silence haunted me, rather--I thought about him a good deal while I +was closing up my affairs in other directions before taking over the +Consolidated Resumption. Meanwhile the company's cashier, Joshua Dean, +a man of trust but small initiative, was filling the interregnum. + +I found him living alone in the manager's house with the Flemings' +Chinese cook as man of all work. The Resumption has never tolerated a +boarding-house or a village or compound within sight of its official +windows. Its first manager was a son of the chief owner, who built his +house in the style of a gentleman's country-seat, small but exclusive +and quite apart from the work. I liked the somber seclusion of the +place, planted deep with trees of about twenty years' growth, showing +their delicate, changing greens against the darker belt of pines. But +its aspect increased, if anything, that uneasy sensation, like a cold +wind in my back, which I still had in thinking of Fleming. + +I had driven out to dine with Dean on the evening of my arrival. It was +the last week in January; there had been much rain already for the +foot-hills. Wet sprays from the untrimmed rose hedges disputed my +passage through the inner gate. Discolored pine-needles lay in sodden +drifts on the neglected grass. The hydrant leaked frozen puddles down +the brick-paved walk. Mounting the veranda steps I laid my hand on the +knocker, when an old Chinese servant popped his head out at a side-door +and violently beckoned me in that way. + +Dean, as I knew, had made his home with the Flemings for some time +before their departure. After a few talks with him and a survey of the +house I decided we might venture to continue the arrangement without +getting in each other's way. It was a house peculiarly adapted to a +_solitude a deux_. There was no telephone nearer than the office. I +argued that Fleming was a man who could protect himself from frivolous +intrusions, and his wife could have had but little in common with her +neighbors in the village. + +He had resigned on account of her health, I was told. It must have been +a hasty flitting or an inconclusive one. The odd, attractive rooms were +full of their belongings still. We two casual bachelors with our +circumspect habits could make no impression on the all but speaking +silence of those empty rooms. They filled me at times with a curious +emotion of sadness and unrest. + +Joshua seldom talked of the Flemings, though I knew he received letters +from them. That he was deeply attached to their memory, hoarded it and +brooded over it, I could not doubt. I even suspected some jealous +sentiment on his part which made it hard for him to see me using their +chairs, planting myself amongst their cushions and investigating their +book-shelves. I thought it strange they had left so many things behind +them of a personal nature. They seemed to have ceased to care for what +most of us rolling stones are wont to cling to. Their departure had +something unspeakable in it--akin to sudden death, or a sickness of the +heart that made life indifferent to them. + +"They must have loved this room!" I said to him one evening. It was +during the black rains of February--Dean and I with our chairs to the +fire, waiting for the Eastern mail. The night watchman's orders were to +stop for it if the trains were anywhere near on time. At this storm +season the Westbound was frequently behind and the road to town a +quagmire. We never looked for Fahey--he was the man I found there as +night watchman--before eight o'clock. It had rained and snowed off and +on since the month began. In the dark, low rooms the fire burned all +day. The dining-room, which had blue-green walls in imitation of Flemish +tapestry and weathered-oak furniture, was darkened still more by the +pines that gave a cloistered look to the view from our back windows into +a small, square court, high-walled and spread with pine-needles. The +rooms we used were two small ones united, done in white and yellow and +with slim curtains which we could crush back upon the rods; but even +there one could not see to read by daylight. This continuous, arctic +gloom added, no doubt, to the melancholy spell of the house, which +nevertheless charmed me, and held me almost with a sense of impalpable +presences sharing with Joshua and me our intimate, wistful seclusion. If +I was happy, in a luxuriously mournful sort of way, I knew that he was +not--that he grieved persistently over something that cast a greyness +over his thoughts in keeping with the atmosphere. I knew that he knew +without any names whom I meant whenever I spoke of _they_. + +"Yes, they loved it," he said, answering my exclamation. "They made it, +somehow, as character is said to shape its own set of features." + +"Had they lived here long?" + +"For a mine house, yes. It was, of course, a home. They had no other." + +"A happy one?" I ventured. + +"Can any one be called happy who has the gift of strong feeling, and +two children at stake, in this world?" I had never heard him speak with +such bitterness. + +"But to have any one to feel for--that is life," I said. "I wish I had +more of it myself." + +"Life, then, is not happiness." + +I left him the last word, and sitting so, both silent, we heard a +screen-door at the kitchen-end blow to with a bang and a clatter of +tinware that sent the blood to my face in wrath. I said something--about +Jim and his fly-doors (Jim believed that flies or their ghosts besieged +that house all winter)--when the old heathen himself came boiling into +the room like a whole United States mail service delayed. + +"Hoo! Heap bad ou'si'! Heap snow!" he panted, wiping drops from the lock +of the mail-pouch with his apron. + +My wrath increased, because once more Fahey had got past the front door +with the mail, whereas each night I had promised myself to waylay him +and change his roundabout method of delivery. "If I live till tomorrow," +I said crossly, "I'll see if he can't climb those steps and hand us the +bag himself." + +Jim stood listening. "We might be at dinner," Joshua suggested. + +"What's the matter with knocking?--what is the knocker for?" It struck +me, as I spoke, that I had not heard the sound of the knocker since the +day Jim stayed my own hand and shunted me in at the side; it seemed he +must have practised the same vigilance with subsequent comers, for I +could not recall one person who had entered the house announced by the +brass lion's head on the door. + +"_He_ no lock!" Jim planted himself in front of me; his voice quavered +nervously. "All time I _un_-lock! Fi' 'tlock whistle blow--I go quick! +Nobody wait. I all time run." + +"Why should you run? What is the knocker for?" I repeated. At this I +stepped past him startling him somewhat, and hurled open the front door. +I had heard our coy watchman going down the path. + +"Tomorrow night, Fahey," I shouted, "you bring the bag in this way. +Knock, man! There's the knocker--see?" + +Jim looked at me with eyes aghast. He gathered himself for speech, +breathing deeply. + +"Mis' Oth' (my name is Othet), I tell you: Long time-_long_ time, no man +knock flon' do'. In this house, no good. No good knock. Sometime +some-come-you no man see!" He lowered his voice to a rapid whisper, +spreading his yellow palms tremulously. "You tell man come knock flon' +do'--I go 'way. Too much bad thing!" + +Muttering to himself he retreated. "Now what has he got on his mind do +you suppose? Could you make out what he was driving at?" + +Dean smiled, a non-committal smile. "It would be rather awkward for us, +wouldn't it, if Jim should leave? We are too far from the coast for city +servants in winter. I doubt if any of the natives could be persuaded to +stay in this house alone." + +"You think Jim would leave if I made Fahey knock at that door every +night?" + +Joshua answered me obliquely. "If I could ever quote anything straight, +I would remind you of a saying in one of George Eliot's novels that +'we've all got to take a little trouble to keep sane and call things by +the same names as other people.' Perhaps Jim doesn't take quite trouble +enough. I have difficulty sometimes myself to find names for things. I +should like to hear you classify a certain occurrence I have in mind, +not unconnected, I think, with Jim's behavior tonight. I've never +discussed it, of course. In fact, I've never spoken of it before." He +smiled queerly. "It's very astonishing how they know things." + +"The menials?" + +He nodded. "Jim was in the house at the time. No one knows that he heard +it,--no one ever told him. But he is thinking of it tonight just as I +am. He's never forgotten it for a moment, and never will." + +Joshua dragged the charred logs forward and stooped amid their sparks to +lay a fresh one with its back to the chimney. Then he rose and looked +out; as he stood in the door, I could hear the hissing of fine snow +turning to rain and the drenched bamboo whipping the piazza posts; over +all, the larger lament of the pines, and, from the long rows of lights +in the gulch, the diapason of the stamp-heads thundering on through the +night. + +"'Identities of sensation,'" said Joshua, quoting again as he shut the +door, "are strong with persons who live in lonely places! Jim and I have +lived here too long." + +"Well, I hope you won't live here another moment till you have told me +that story," I urged, and we drew again to the fire. + +"There was a watchman here before Fahey," he began, "an old plainsman, +with a Bible name, Gideon. He looked like the pictures of old +Ossawattamie Brown, and he had for the Flemings a most unusual regard. +It was as strong as his love for his family. It was because of what +Fleming did for his son, young Gid, when they caught him stealing +specimens with a gang of old offenders. Gid was nineteen, and a pretty +good boy, we thought. Such things happen between men of the right sort +every day, I suppose,--Fleming would say so. But it was his opportunity +to do it for a man who could feel and remember, and he made a friend for +life right there. It is too long a story to tell, but young Gid's all +right--working in the city, married and happy,--trusted like any other +man. It wasn't in the blood, you see. + +"Before his boy got into trouble, Fleming used to call the old man +'Gideon,' talked to him any old way; but after his pride fell down it +was always 'Mr. Gideon,' and a few words when he brought the mail, about +the weather or the conduct of the trains. The old man appeared to stand +taller in those moments at the door, when he brought to the house the +very food of its existence. They lived upon their letters, for both the +children were away. The army boy in the Philippines; it was during the +Mindanao campaign; and Constance (Joshua, I noticed, took a deep breath +before the name), the daughter, was at school in the East. Gideon could +gauge the spirits of the two, waiting here for what he brought them. He +kept tally of the soldier's letters, the thin blue ones that came +strolling in by the transport lines. But hers--her letters were his +pride. + +"'It's there all right,' he would say--'she never misses a Monday mail, +the little one!' or, as the winter months wore on--'you'll be counting +the weeks now, madam. Six more letters and then the telegram from Ogden, +and I hope it's my privilege to bring it, madam.' For as Fleming gave +him his title, the old man passed it back with a glow of emphasis, +putting devotion into the 'madam' and life service into the 'Mr. +Fleming, sir.' + +"Then she came home--Constance--she was no longer the little one. Taller +than her mother, and rather silent, but her looks were a language, and +her motions about the house--I suppose no words could measure their +pride in her, or their shrinking when they thought of her in contact +with the world. People laughed a little, looking at her, when her mother +talked of the years they were going to have together. And she would +rebuke the laugh and say, 'We do not marry early in my family, nor the +Flemings either.' When the August heat came on, they thought she was too +pale--they spared her for a visit to some friends who had a houseboat +off Belvedere, or some such place. It was an ambush of fate. She came +home, thin, brown, from living on the water,--happy! too happy for +safety. She brought her fate with her, the last man you'd suppose could +ever cross her path. He was from Hawaii, an Englishman--not all English, +some of us thought. Handsome as a snake; a face that kept no marks. Eyes +all black--nothing of the pupil showing. They say such eyes are not to +be trusted. I never liked him. I'd better not try to describe him. + +"It seemed madness to me, but I suppose they were no more helpless than +other fathers and mothers. He had plenty to say for himself, and +introductions--all sorts of credentials, except a pair of eyes. They had +to let it go on; and he took her away from them six months after she saw +him first. That's happiness, if you call it so!" + +Again I added, "It is life." + +"There was not much left of it in this house after she went," Joshua +mused. "It was then they asked me to come up and stay with them. A +silence of three does not press quite so close as a silence of two. And +we talked sometimes. The mine had taken a great jump; it was almost a +mockery the way things boomed. The letters, I noticed, were not what the +schoolgirl letters had been to her mother. They came all right, they +were punctual, but something I felt sure was wrong. Mrs. Fleming would +not have missed a mail for anything in the world--every hour's delay +wore upon her. She would play her game of solitaire, long after bedtime, +at that desk by the drop-light. It seemed she could not read; nothing +held her. She was irritable with Fleming, and then she would pet him +piteously to make up. He was always gentle. He would watch her over his +book as she walked up and down in the back room in the light between the +dining-room curtains. If he saw I noticed, he'd look away and begin to +talk. + +"I have gone a little ahead of my story, for this was after the dark +weather came on and the mails were behind; we knew there was some new +strain on her spirits. You could see her face grow small and her flesh +waste away. + +"One night we sat here, Fleming and I, and she was pacing in her soft, +weary way in the back of the room. There came a knock. It was Gideon's, +yet none of us heard the gate click nor any step outside. She stood +back, for she never showed any impatience--she tried to pretend that she +expected nothing. Fleming opened the door; he stood there an instant +looking out. + +"'Didn't you hear a knock?' he asked me. Before I could answer he went +outside, closing the door, and we heard him go down the steps slowly. + +"When he came in he merely said, 'A jar of wind. + +"'A jar of wind!' Mrs. Fleming mocked him. The knock came again as she +spoke. Once, twice, then the light tap: I have described Gideon's knock. +We did not pretend again it was the wind. + +"'You go this time;' Fleming tried to laugh. 'See if there is anything +doing.' + +"There was nothing doing whatever, and nothing to be seen. I turned on +the electrics outside, and Fleming, seeing the light, came out to join +me. I asked him if those were his tracks--a man's footsteps could be +seen printed in the fresh, light snow as far as the lowest step and +back. All beyond, where the light streamed down the path to the gate, +was sky-fresh snow softly laid without wind. 'Those are my tracks,' he +said. 'There were no others before--sure,' he repeated, 'and there is no +one down at the gate. You need not go down there. Say nothing to her,' +he continued as we re-opened the door. + +"She was expecting us. She was very pale but half smiling, braving it +out. She fixed her eyes on Fleming and then on me. 'Did you not _both_ +hear that knock?' As she spoke it came again. I stood nearest the door; +I hurled it open. Absolutely nothing. The lights, burning in a silly +way, made shadows on the steps. Not a mark, not even a leaf-track on the +path we could see below. + +"I went over to the telephone and called up the post-office. What +happened at the house in absence I do not know. I found the drawing-room +empty; Fleming joined me coming from his wife's room. + +"'She is fearfully upset by that knocking,' he said. 'Can't we think up +some explanation?' + +"I feared he would have less courage for inventing explanations after +what I had to tell him. + +"I had followed the track of a horse and cart to the stable and found +Gideon's old mare at her hitching-post; the cart was empty, the muddy +lap-robe dragging over the wheel. At the post-office they told me Gideon +had started for the mine an hour and a half ago. 'Hasn't he got out +there with that telegram yet?' they added. From the telegraph office, +where they knew Gideon's hours, they had sent a message across to the +post-office to be carried out by him with the mail. The voice on the +telephone remarked, 'I guess they ought to get that wire pretty soon. It +was marked _Important.'_ + +"Fleming was cold and shaking as he listened. 'Drive back along the road +through the woods, Joshua'--he seldom called me by that name. 'I think +something has happened to the old man. His knock is on duty tonight, but +where is he?' + +"It came again, and following it a low cry from passage behind closed +doors. 'She heard it too,' said Fleming. And he went to his wife. + +"I called up the landing-man to help me--Tommy Briscoe; I knew he +wouldn't spread any talk about. The search was not long. A lantern +burning by itself in the woods showed us where he had stopped the cart +and half turned and tramped around in the snow. He'd dropped the bag +out, probably, missed it and looked for it on foot, setting his lantern +down. He'd gone back quite a bit along the road, and, coming back with +it, the light in his eyes, he had made a misstep, and the shaft--the old +Granite Hill shaft, you know--it's close to the road. We found him in +the sump at the bottom. There had been too much rain, but it is a deep +shaft anyway. He kept his hold on the bag, and he kept his senses long +enough to hook it onto a poor little stray pine-root above the water, +where he died. It was a cruel death, but his face was good to look at." + +"And the telegram?" I asked. + +"It was safe. He'd saved everything, except himself. They were driven +over to Colfax that night, with not a moment to spare----" + +"But you haven't told me what it was." + +"The message? Yes, it was from her, Constance--sent from an address in +the city. It said--I suppose I may repeat it. It is part of the night's +work. + +"'Come to me, mother,' it said. 'I am here. I need you.'" + +"And they were in time?" + +"To bid her good-by," said Joshua. "There was no hope for her but in +death. Of course, they never explained. She simply fled from--we don't +know what. As long as she could she bore it without complaint, and then +she came home. She had them both with her and she knew them. + +"I believe they were willing to give her up. It was the only solution +left. They were very fixed in their ideas about divorce, and what comes +after. They believed in staking all or nothing and abiding the result. +The logic of her choice was death. They saw her free, without a stain, +without an obligation in this life even to her child, for it lay dead +beside her. They did grieve for that. They wanted it to live. It would +have been something--yet, I believe, even that was best. + +"They lived on here for a while, if you call it living; but the silence +in these rooms was more than she could endure. And I need not tell you +that the watchman, who was put on after Gideon, had orders to leave that +knocker alone." + +"And you think," I asked, "that while Gideon lay dead at the bottom of +the shaft, his knock was 'marching on'?" I regretted instantly the turn +of my last sentence. Joshua stiffened as he replied: + +"No; I cannot assert that he was dead, but I am convinced that what was +left of him, of his mortal--or immortal--consciousness, was not +concerned with himself. What may happen to us at that last boundary post +is one of the mysteries no man can solve till he gets there." + +"Joshua," I said, "the drift of your conclusion is a tribute to Gideon's +faithfulness--well deserved I have no doubt. But if you'll allow me to +say so, it is not a tribute to the healthy state of your mind. I regret +to say it, but I fear that I agree with you: I think you have lived in +this house too long." + +"If I had lived here too long for any other reason," he answered gently, +"enough has been said. It is better we should understand each other. +But, as to my mind--I prefer to keep it unhealthy, if by that you mean +the tendency to project it a little further than reason, founded on such +laws of the universe as we know, can help us. Healthy minds are such as +accept things--endeavor to forget what gives immeasurable pain. I prefer +the pain." + + + + +A YELLOW MAN AND A WHITE + +BY + +ELEANOR GATES + +Reprinted from _Scribner's Magazine_ of June, 1905 by permission + + +FONG WU sat on the porch of his little square-fronted house, chanting +into the twilight. Across his padded blouse of purple silk lay his +_sam-yen_ banjo. And as, from time to time, his hymn to the Three Pure +Ones was prolonged in high, fine quavers, like the uneven, squeaky notes +of a woman's voice, he ran his left hand up the slender neck of the +instrument, rested a long nail of his right on its taut, snake's-skin +head, and lightly touched the strings; then, in quick, thin tones, they +followed the song to Sang-Ching. + +The warm shadows of a California summer night were settling down over +the wooded hills and rocky gulches about Fong Wu's, and there was little +but his music to break the silence. Long since, the chickens had +sleepily sought perches in the hen yard, with its high wall of rooty +stumps and shakes, and on the branches of the Digger pine that towered +beside it. Up the dry creek bed, a mile away, twinkled the lights of +Whiskeytown; but no sounds from the homes of the white people came down +to the lonely Chinese. If his clear treble was interrupted, it was by +the cracking of a dry branch as a cottontail sped past on its way to a +stagnant pool, or it was by a dark-emboldened coyote, howling, +dog-like, at the moon which, white as the snow that eternally coifs the +Sierras, was just rising above their distant, cobalt line. + +One year before, Fong Wu, heavily laden with his effects, had slipped +out of the stage from Redding and found his way to a forsaken, +ramshackle building below Whiskeytown. His coming had proved of small +interest. When the news finally got about that "a monkey" was living in +"Sam Kennedy's old place," it was thought, for a while, that laundering, +thereafter, would be cheaply done. This hope, however, was soon +dispelled. For, shortly after his arrival, as Fong Wu asked at the +grocery store for mail, he met Radigan's inquiry of "You do my washee, +John?" with a grave shake of the head. Similar questions from others +were met, later, in a similar way. Soon it became generally known that +the "monkey at Sam Kennedy's" did not do washing; so he was troubled no +further. + +Yet if Fong Wu did not work for the people of Whiskeytown, he was not, +therefore, idle. Many a sunrise found him wandering through the +chaparral thickets back of his house, digging here and there in the red +soil for roots and herbs. These he took home, washed, tasted, and, +perhaps, dried. His mornings were mainly spent in cooking for his +abundantly supplied table, in tending his fowls and house, and in making +spotless and ironing smooth various undergarments--generous of sleeve +and leg. + +But of an afternoon, all petty duties were laid aside, and he sorted +carefully into place upon his shelves numerous little bunches and boxes +of dried herbs and numerous tiny phials of pungent liquid that had come +to him by post; he filled wide sheets of foolscap with vertical lines of +queer characters and consigned them to big, plainly addressed, +well-stamped envelopes; he scanned closely the last newspapers from San +Francisco, and read from volumes in divers tongues, and he poured over +the treasured Taoist book, "The Road to Virtue." + +Sunday was his one break in the week's routine. Then, the coolies who +panned or cradled for gold in tailings of near-by abandoned mines, +gathered at Fong Wu's. On such occasions, there was endless, lively +chatter, a steady exchange of barbering--one man scraping another clean, +to be, in turn, made hairless in a broad band about the poll and on +cheek and chin--and much consuming of tasty chicken, dried fish, pork, +rice, and melon seeds. To supplement all this, Fong Wu recounted the +news: the arrival of a consul in San Francisco, the raid on a slave--or +gambling-den, the progress of a tong war under the very noses of the +baffled police, and the growth of Coast feeling against the continued, +quiet immigration of Chinese. But of the social or political affairs of +the Flowery Kingdom--of his own land beyond the sea--Fong Wu was +consistently silent. + +Added to his Sunday responsibilities as host and purveyor of news, Fong +Wu had others. An ailing countryman, whether seized with malaria or +suffering from an injury, found ready and efficient attention. The bark +of dogwood, properly cooked, gave a liquid that killed the ague; and oil +from a diminutive bottle, or a red powder whetted upon the skin with a +silver piece, brought out the soreness of a bruise. + +Thus, keeping his house, herb-hunting, writing, studying, entertaining, +doctoring, Fong Wu lived on at Whiskeytown. + +Each evening, daintily manipulating ivory chopsticks, he ate his supper +of rice out of a dragon-bordered bowl. Then, when he had poured tea from +a pot all gold-encrusted--a cluster of blossoms nodding in a vase at his +shoulder the while--he went out upon the porch of the square-fronted +house. + +And there, as now, a scarlet-buttoned cap on his head, his black eyes +soft with dreaming, his richly wrought sandals tapping the floor in +time, his long queue--a smooth, shining serpent--in thick coils about +his tawny neck, Fong Wu thrummed gently upon the three-stringed banjo, +and, in peace, chanted into the twilight. + + * * * * * + +Flying hoofs scattered the gravel on the strip of road before Fong Wu's. +He looked through the gloom and saw a horse flash past, carrying a +skirted rider toward Whiskeytown. His song died out. He let his banjo +slip down until its round head rested between his feet. Then he turned +his face up the gulch. + +Despite the dusk, he knew the traveler: Mrs. Anthony Barrett, who, with +her husband, had recently come to live in a house near Stillwater. Every +evening, when the heat was over, she went by, bound for the day's mail +at the post-office. Every evening, in the cool, Fong Wu saw her go, and +sometimes she gave him a friendly nod. + +Her mount was a spirited, mouse-dun mustang, with crop-ears, a roached +mane, and the back markings of a mule. She always rode at a run, +sitting with easy erectness. A wide army hat rested snugly on her fair +hair, and shaded a white forehead and level-looking eyes. But +notwithstanding the sheltering brim, on her girlish face were set the +glowing, scarlet seals of wind and sun. + +As he peered townward after her, Fong Wu heard the hurrying hoof-beats +grow gradually fainter and fainter--and cease. Presently the moon topped +the pines on the foot-hills behind him, bathing the gulch in light. The +road down which she would come sprang into view. He watched its farthest +open point. In a few moments the hoof-beats began again. Soon the glint +of a light waist showed through the trees. Next, horse and rider rounded +a curve at hand. Fong Wu leaned far forward. + +And then, just as the mustang gained the strip of road before the +square-fronted house, it gave a sudden, unlooked-for, outward leap, +reared with a wild snort, and, whirling, dashed past the +porch--riderless. + +With an exclamation, Fong Wu flung his banjo aside and ran to the road. +There under a manzanita bush, huddled and still, lay a figure. He caught +it up, bore it to the porch, and put it gently down. + +A brief examination, made with the deftness practise gives, showed him +that no bones were broken. Squatting beside the unconscious woman, he +next played slowly with his long-nailed fingers upon her pulse. Its beat +reassured him. He lighted a lamp and held it above her. The scarlet of +her cheeks was returning. + +The sight of her, who was so strong and active, stretched weak and +fainting, compelled Fong Wu into spoken comment. "The petal of a plum +blossom," he said compassionately, in his own tongue. + +She stirred a little. He moved back. As, reviving, she opened her eyes, +they fell upon him. But he was half turned away, his face as blank and +lifeless as a mask. + +She gave a startled cry and sat up. "Me hurtee?" she asked him, adopting +pidgin-English "Me fallee off?" + +Fong Wu rose. "You were thrown," he answered gravely. + +She colored in confusion. "Pardon me," she said, "for speaking to you as +if you were a coolie." Then, as she got feebly to her feet--"I believe +my right arm is broken." + +"I have some knowledge of healing," he declared; "let me look at it." +Before she could answer, he had ripped the sleeve away. "It is only a +sprain," he said. "Wait." He went inside for an amber liquid and +bandages. When he had laved the injured muscles, he bound them round. + +"How did it happen?" she asked, as he worked. He was so courteous and +professional that her alarm was gone. + +"Your horse was frightened by a rattler in the road. I heard it whir." + +She shuddered. "I ought to be thankful that I didn't come my cropper on +it," she said, laughing nervously. + +He went inside again, this time to prepare a cupful of herbs. When he +offered her the draught, she screwed up her face over its nauseating +fumes. + +"If that acts as strongly as it tastes," she said, after she had drunk +it, "I'll be well soon." + +"It is to keep away inflammation." + +"Oh! Can I go now?" + +"Yes. But tomorrow return, and I will look at the arm." He took the lamp +away and replaced his red-buttoned cap with a black felt hat. Then he +silently preceded her down the steps to the road. Only when the light of +her home shone plainly ahead of them, did he leave her. + +They had not spoken on the way. But as he bowed a good night, she +addressed him. "I thank you," she said. "And may I ask your name?" + +"Kwa"--he began, and stopped. Emotion for an instant softened his +impassive countenance. He turned away. "Fong Wu," he added, and was +gone. + +The following afternoon the crunch of cart wheels before the +square-fronted house announced her coming. Fong Wu closed "The Book of +Virtue," and stepped out upon the porch. + +A white man was seated beside her in the vehicle. As she sprang from it, +light-footed and smiling, and mounted the steps, she indicated him +politely to the Chinese. + +"This is my husband," she said. "I have told him how kind you were to me +last night." + +Fong Wu nodded. + +Barrett hastened to voice his gratitude. "I certainly am very much +obliged to you," he said. "My wife might have been bitten by the +rattler, or she might have lain all night in pain if you hadn't found +her. And I want to say that your treatment was splendid. Why, her arm +hasn't swollen or hurt her. I'll be hanged if I can see--you're such a +good doctor--why you stay in this----" + +Fong Wu interrupted him. "I will wet the bandage with medicine," he +said, and entered the house. + +They watched him with some curiosity as he treated the sprain and +studied the pulse. When he brought out her second cup of steaming herbs, +Mrs. Barrett looked up at him brightly. + +"You know we're up here for Mr. Barrett's health," she said. "A year or +so after we were married, he was hurt in a railway collision. Since +then, though his wounds healed nicely, he has never been quite well. Dr. +Lord, our family physician, prescribed plenty of rough work, and a quiet +place, far from the excitement of a town or city. Now, all this morning, +when I realized how wonderful it was that my arm wasn't aching, I've +been urging my husband--what do you suppose?--to come and be examined by +you!" + +Fong Wu, for the first time, looked fully at the white man, marking the +sallow, clayey face, with its dry, lined skin, its lusterless eyes and +drooping lids. + +Barrett scowled at his wife. "Nonsense, dear," he said crossly; "you +know very well that Lord would never forgive me." + +"But Fong Wu might help you," she declared. + +Fong Wu's black eyes were still fixed searchingly upon the white man. +Before their scrutiny, soul-deep, the other's faltered and fell. + +"You might help him, mightn't you, Fong Wu?" Mrs. Barrett repeated. + +An expression, curious, keen, and full of meaning, was the answer. Then, +"I might if he----" Fong Wu said, and paused. + +Past Mrs. Barrett, whose back was toward her husband, the latter had +shot a warning glance. "Come, come, Edith," he cried irritably; "let's +get home." + +Mrs. Barrett emptied her cup bravely. "When shall we call again?" she +asked. + +"You need not come again," Fong Wu replied. "Each day you have only to +dampen the bandages from these." He handed her a green-flowered box +containing twelve tiny compartments; in each was a phial. + +"And I sha'n't have to take any more of this--this awful stuff?" she +demanded gaily, giving back the cup. + +"No." + +"Ah! And now, I want to thank you again, with all my heart. Here,"--she +reached into the pocket of her walking-skirt,--"here is something for +your trouble." Two double-eagles lay on her open palm. + +Fong Wu frowned at them. "I take no money," he said, a trifle gruffly. +And as she got into the cart, he closed the door of his home behind him. + +It was a week before Mrs. Barrett again took up her rides for the mail. +When she did, Fong Wu did not fail to be on his porch as she passed. For +each evening, as she cantered up the road, spurring the mustang to its +best paces, she reined to speak to him. And he met her greetings with +unaccustomed good humor. + +Then she went by one morning before sunrise, riding like the wind. A +little later she repassed, whipping her horse at every gallop. Fong Wu, +called to his door by the clatter, saw that her face was white and +drawn. At noon, going up to the post-office, he heard a bit of gossip +that seemed to bear upon her unwonted trip. Radigan was rehearsing it +excitedly to his wife, and the Chinese busied himself with his mail and +listened--apparently unconcerned. + +"I c'n tell you she ain't afraid of anythin', that Mrs. Barrett," the +post-master was saying; "neither th' cayuse she rides or a critter on +two legs. An' that fancy little drug-clerk from 'Frisco got it straight +from th' shoulder." + +"S-s-sh!" admonished his wife, from the back of the office. "Isn't there +some one outside?" + +"Naw, just th' chink from Kennedy's. Well, as I remarked, she did jus' +light into that dude. 'It was criminal!' she says, an' her eyes snapped +like a whip; 'it was criminal! an' if I find out for sure that you are +guilty, I'll put you where you'll never do it again.' Th' young gent +smirked at her an' squirmed like a worm. 'You're wrong, Mrs. Barrett,' +he says, lookin' like th' meek puppy he is, 'an' you'll have t' look +some place else for th' person that done it.' But she wouldn't talk no +longer--jus' walked out, as mad as a hornet." + +"Well, well," mused Mrs. Radigan. "I wonder what 'twas all about. +'Criminal,' she said, eh? That's funny!" She walked to the front of the +office and peeked through the wicket. But no one was loitering near +except Fong Wu, and his face was the picture of dull indifference. + +That night, long after the hour for Mrs. Barrett's regular trip, and +long past the time for his supper-song, Fong Wu heard slow, shuffling +steps approach the house. A moment afterward, the knob of his door was +rattled. He put out his light and slipped a knife into his loose sleeve. + +After some fumbling and moving about on the porch, a man called out to +him. He recognized the voice. + +"Fong Wu! Fong Wu!" it begged. "Let me in. I want to see you; I want to +ask you for help--for something I need. Let me in; let me in." + +Fong Wu, without answering, relit his lamp, and, with the air of one who +is at the same time both relieved and a witness of the expected, flung +the door wide. + +Then into the room, writhing as if in fearful agony, his hands palsied, +his face a-drip and, except for dark blotches about the mouth, +green-hued, his eyes wild and sunken, fell, rather than tottered, +Anthony Barrett. + +"Fong Wu," he pleaded, from the floor at the other's feet, "you helped +my wife when she was sick, now help me. I'm dying! I'm dying! Give it to +me, for God's sake! give it to me." He caught at the skirt of Fong Wu's +blouse. + +The Chinese retreated a little, scowling. "What do you want?" he asked. + +A paroxysm of pain seized Barrett. He half rose and stumbled forward. +"You know," he panted, "you know. And if I don't have some, I'll die. I +can't get it anywhere else. She's found me out, and scared the +drug-clerk. Oh, just a little, old man, just a little!" He sank to the +floor again. + +"I can give you nothing," said Fong Wu bluntly. "I do not keep--what you +want." + +With a curse, Barrett was up again. "Oh, you don't," he screamed, +leering frenziedly. "You yellow devil! You almond-eyed pigtail! But I +know you do! And I must have it. Quick! quick!" He hung, clutching, on +the edge of Fong Wu's wide ironing-table, an ashen wreck. + +Fong Wu shook his head. + +With a cry, Barrett came at him and seized his lean throat. "You damned +highbinder!" he gasped. "You saddle-nosed monkey! You'll get me what I +want or I'll give you away. Don't I know why you're up here in these +woods, with your pretty clothes and your English talk? A_-ha_! You bet I +do! You're hiding, and you're wanted,"--he dropped his voice to a +whisper,--"the tongs would pay head-money for you. If you don't give it +to me, I'll put every fiend in 'Frisco on your trail." + +Fong Wu had caught Barrett's wrists. Now he cast him to one side. +"Tongs!" he said with a shrug, as if they were beneath his notice. And +"Fiends!" he repeated contemptuously, a taunt in his voice. + +The white man had fallen prone and was grovelling weakly. "Oh, I won't +tell on you," he wailed imploringly. "I won't, I won't, Fong Wu; I swear +it on my honor." + +Fong Wu grunted and reached to a handy shelf. "I will make a bargain +with you," he said craftily; "first, you are to drink what I wish." + +"Anything! anything!" Barrett cried. + +From a box of dry herbs, long untouched, the Chinese drew out a handful. +There was no time for brewing. Outraged nature demanded instant relief. +He dropped them into a bowl, covered them with water, and stirred +swiftly. When the stems and leaves were broken up and well mixed, he +strained brown liquid from them and put it to the other's lips. + +"Drink," he commanded, steadying the shaking head. + +Barrett drank, unquestioningly. + +Instantly the potion worked. Calmed as if by a miracle, made drowsy to a +point where speech was impossible, the white man, tortured but a moment +before, tipped sleepily into Fong Wu's arms. The Chinese waited until a +full effect was secured, when he lifted his limp patient to the +blanket-covered ironing-table. Then he went out for fuel, built a fire, +and, humming softly--with no fear of waking the other--sat down to watch +the steeping of more herbs. + + * * * * * + +What happened next at the square-fronted house was the unexpected. Again +there was a sound of approaching footsteps, again some one gained the +porch. But this time there was no pausing to ask for admission, there +were no weak requests for aid. A swift hand felt for the knob and found +it; a strong arm pushed at the unlocked door. And through it, +bare-headed, with burning eyes and blanched cheeks, her heavy +riding-whip dangling by a thong from her wrist, came the wife of Anthony +Barrett. + +Just across the sill she halted and swept the dim room. A moment, and +the burning eyes fell upon the freighted ironing-table. She gave a +piercing cry. + +Fong Wu neither spoke nor moved. + +After the first outburst, she was quiet--the quiet that is deliberative, +threatening. Then she slowly closed her fingers about the whip butt. +Fixing her gaze in passionate anger upon him, she advanced a few steps. + +_"So it was you,"_ she said, and her voice was hollow. + +To that he made no sign, and even his colorless face told nothing. + +She came forward a little farther, and sucked in a long, deep breath. +"You _dog_ of a Chinaman!" she said at last, and struck her +riding-skirt. + +Fong Wu answered silently. With an imperative gesture, he pointed out +the figure on the ironing-table. + +She sprang to her husband's side and bent over him. Presently she began +to murmur to herself. When, finally, she turned, there were tears on her +lashes, she was trembling visibly, and she spoke in whispers. + +"Was I wrong?" she demanded brokenly. "I _must_ have been. He's not had +it; I can tell by his quick, easy breathing. And his ear has a faint +color. You are trying to help him! I know! I know!" + +A gleaming white line showed between the yellow of Fong Wu's lips. He +picked up a rude stool and set it by the table. She sank weakly upon it, +letting the whip fall. + +"Thank God! thank God!" she sobbed prayerfully, and buried her face in +her arms. + +[Illustration: "THE PETAL OF A PLUM BLOSSOM." +FROM A PAINTING BY ALBERTINE RANDALL, WHEELAN.] + +Throughout the long hours that followed, Fong Wu, from the room's +shadowy rear, sat watching. He knew sleep did not come to her. For now +and then he saw her shake from head to heel convulsively, as he had seen +men in his own country quiver +beneath the scourge of bamboos. Now and then, too, he heard her give a +stifled moan, like the protest of a dumb creature. But in no other ways +did she bare her suffering. Quietly, lest she wake her husband, she +fought out the night. + +Only once did Fong Wu look away from her. Then, in anger and disgust his +eyes shifted to the figure on the table. "The petal of a plum +blossom"--he muttered in Chinese--"the petal of a plum blossom beneath +the hoofs of a pig!" And again his eyes dwelt upon the grief-bowed wife. + +But when the dawn came stealing up from behind the purple Sierras, and +Mrs. Barrett raised her wan face, he was studiously reviewing his rows +of bottles, outwardly unaware of her presence. + +"Fong Wu," she said, in a low voice, "when will he wake?" + +"When he is rested; at sunrise, maybe, or at noon." + +"And then?" + +"He will be feeble. I shall give him more medicine, and he will sleep +again." + +He rose and busied himself at the fire. Soon he approached her, bringing +the gold-encrusted teapot and a small, handleless cup. + +She drank thirstily, filling and emptying the cup many times. When she +was done, she made as if to go. "I shall see that everything is all +right at home," she told him. "After that, I shall come back." She +stooped and kissed her husband tenderly. + +Fong Wu opened the door for her, and she passed out. In the road, +unhitched, but waiting, stood the mustang. She mounted and rode away. + +When she returned, not long afterward, she was a new woman. She had +bathed her face and donned a fresh waist. Her eyes were alight, and the +scarlet was again flaming in her cheeks. Almost cheerfully, and +altogether hopefully, she resumed her post at the ironing-table. + +It was late in the afternoon before Barrett woke. But he made no attempt +to get up, and would not eat. Fong Wu administered another dose of +herbs, and without heeding his patient's expostulations. The latter, +after seeking his wife's hand, once more sank into sleep. + +Just before sunset, Fong Wu, who scorned to rest, prepared supper. +Gratefully Mrs. Barrett partook of some tender chicken and rice cakes. +When darkness shut down, they took up their second long vigil. + +But it was not the vigil of the previous night. She was able to think of +other things than her husband's condition and the doom that, of a +sudden, had menaced her happiness. Her spirits having risen, she was +correspondingly impatient of a protracted, oppressive stillness, and +looked about for an interruption, and for diversion. Across from her, a +celestial patrician in his blouse of purple silk and his red-buttoned +cap, sat Fong Wu. Consumed with curiosity--now that she had time to +observe him closely--she longed to lift the yellow, expressionless mask +from his face--a face which might have patterned that of an oriental +sphinx. At midnight, when he approached the table to satisfy himself of +Barrett's progress, and to assure her of it, she essayed a conversation. + +Glancing up at his laden shelves, she said, "I have been noticing your +medicines, and how many kinds there seem to be." + +"For each ailment that is visited upon man, earth offers a cure," he +answered. "Life would be a mock could Death, unchallenged, take it." + +"True. Have you found in the earth, then, the cure for each ailment of +man?" + +"For most, yes. They seek yet, where I learned the art of healing, an +antidote for the cobra's bite. I know of no other they lack." + +"Where you were taught they must know more than we of this country +know." + +Fong Wu gave his shoulders a characteristic shrug. + +"But," she continued, "you speak English so perfectly. Perhaps you were +taught that in this country." + +"No--in England. But the other, I was not." + +"In England! Well!" + +"I went there as a young man." + +"But these herbs, these medicines you have--they did not come from +England, did they?" + +He smiled. "Some came from the hills at our back." Then, crossing to his +shelves and reaching up, "This"--he touched a silk-covered package--"is +from Sumbawa in the Indian Sea; and this"--his finger was upon the cork +of a phial--"is from Feng-shan, Formosa; and other roots are taken in +winter from the lake of Ting-ting-hu, which is then dry; and still +others come from the far mountains of Chamur." + +"Do you know," Mrs. Barrett said tentatively, "I have always heard that +Chinese doctors give horrid things for medicine--sharks' teeth, frogs' +feet, lizards' tails, and--and all sorts of dreadful things." + +Fong Wu proffered no enlightenment. + +"I am glad," she went on, "that I have learned better." + +After a while she began again: "Doubtless there is other wonderful +knowledge, besides that about doctoring, which Chinese gentlemen +possess." + +Fong Wu gave her a swift glance. "The followers of Laou-Tsze know many +things," he replied, and moved into the shadows as if to close their +talk. + +Toward morning, when he again gave her some tea, she spoke of something +that she had been turning over in her mind for hours. + +"You would not take money for helping me when I was hurt," she said, +"and I presume you will refuse to take it for what you are doing now. +But I should like you to know that Mr. Barrett and I will always, always +be your friends. If"--she looked across at him, no more a part of his +rude surroundings than was she--"if ever there comes a time when we +could be of use to you, you have only to tell us. Please remember that." + +"I will remember." + +"I cannot help but feel," she went on, and with a sincere desire to +prove her gratitude, rather than to pry out any secret of his, "that you +do not belong here--that you are in more trouble than I am. For what can +a man of your rank have to do in a little town like this!" + +He was not displeased with her. "The ancient sage," he said slowly, +"mounted himself upon a black ox and disappeared into the western +wilderness of Thibet. Doubtless others, too, seek seclusion for much +thinking." + +"But you are not the hermit kind," she declared boldly. "You belong to +those who stay and fight. Yet here you are, separated from your people +and your people's graves--alone and sorrowful." + +"As for my living people, they are best without me; as for my people +dead, I neither worship their dust nor propitiate devils. The wise one +said, 'Why talk forever on of men who are long gone?'" + +"Yet----" she persisted. + +He left the stove and came near her. "You are a woman, but you know +much. You are right. My heart is heavy for a thing I cannot do--for the +shattered dreams of the men of Hukwang." He beat his palms together +noiselessly, and moved to and fro on soft sandals. "Those dreams were of +a young China that was to take the place of the old--but that died +unborn." + +She followed his words with growing interest. "I have heard of those +dreams," she answered; "they were called 'reform.'" + +"Yes. And now all the dreamers are gone. They had voyaged to glean at +Harvard, Yale, Cornell, and in the halls of Oxford. There were 'five +loyal and six learned,' and they shed their blood at the Chen Chih Gate. +One there was who died the death that is meted a slave at the court of +the Son of Heaven. And one there was"--his face shrank up, as if swiftly +aging; his eyes became dark, upturning slits; as one who fears pursuit, +he cast a look behind him--"and one there was who escaped beyond the +blood-bathed walls of the Hidden City and gained the Sumatra Coast. +Then, leaving Perak, in the Straits Settlements, he finally set foot +upon a shore where men, without terror, may reach toward higher things." + +"And was he followed?" she whispered, comprehending. + +"He fled quietly. For long are the claws of the she-panther crouched on +the throne of the Mings." + +Both fell silent. The Chinese went back to the stove, where the fire was +dying. The white woman, wide awake, and lost in the myriad of scenes his +tale had conjured, sat by the table, for once almost forgetful of her +charge. + +The dragging hours of darkness past, Anthony Barrett found sane +consciousness. He was pale, yet strengthened by his long sleep, and he +was hungry. Relieved and overjoyed, Mrs. Barrett ministered to him. When +he had eaten and drunk, she helped him from the table to the stool, and +thence to his feet. Her arm about him, she led him to the door. Fong Wu +had felt his pulse and it had ticked back the desired message, so he was +going home. + +"Each night you are to come," Fong Wu said, as he bade them good-by. +"And soon, very soon, you may go from here to the place from which you +came." + +Mrs. Barrett turned at the door. A plea for pardon in misjudging him, +thankfulness for his help, sympathy for his exile--all these shone from +her eyes. But words failed her. She held out her hand. + +He seemed not to see it; he kept his arms at his sides. A "dog of a +Chinaman" had best not take a woman's hand. + +She went out, guiding her husband's footsteps, and helped him climb upon +the mustang from the height of the narrow porch. Then, taking the horse +by the bridle, she moved away down the slope to the road. + +Fong Wu did not follow, but closed the door gently and went back to the +ironing-table. A handkerchief lay beside it--a dainty linen square that +she had left. He picked it up and held it before him by two corners. +From it there wafted a faint, sweet breath. + +Fong Wu let it flutter to the floor. "The perfume of a plum petal," he +said softly, in English; "the perfume of a plum petal." + + + + +THE JUDGMENT OF MAN + +BY + +JAMES HOPPER + +_Copyright_, 1906, by McClure, Phillips and Company + +Reprinted from _Caybigan_ by permission + + +WE WERE sitting around the big center table in the _sala_ of the "House +of Guests" in Ilo-Ilo. We were teachers from Occidental Negros. It was +near Christmas; we had left our stations for the holidays--the cholera +had just swept them and the aftermath was not pleasant to +contemplate--and so we were leaning over the polished _narra_ table, +sipping a sweet, false Spanish wine from which we drew, not a convivial +spirit, but rather a quiet, reflective gloom. All the shell shutters +were drawn back; we could see the tin-roofed city gleam and crackle with +the heat, and beyond the lithe line of cocoanuts, the iridescent sea, +tugging the heart with offer of coolness. But, all of us, we knew the +promise to be Fake, monumental Fake, knew the alluring depths to be hot +as corruption, and full of sharks. + +Somebody in a monotonous voice was cataloguing the dead, enumerating +those of us who had been conquered by the climate, by the work, or +through their own inward flaws. He mentioned Miller with some sort of +disparaging gesture, and then Carter of Balangilang, who had been very +silent, suddenly burst into speech with singular fury. + +"Who are you, to judge him?" he shouted. "Who are you, eh? Who are we, +anyway, to judge him?" + +Headlong outbursts from Carter were nothing new to us, so we took no +offense. Finally some one said, "Well, he's dead," with that tone that +signifies final judgment, the last, best, most charitable thing which +can be said of the man being weighed. + +But Carter did not stop there. "You didn't know him, did you?" he asked. +"You didn't know him; tell me now, _did_ you know him?" He was still +extraordinarily angry. + +We did not answer. Really, we knew little of the dead man--excepting +that he was mean and small, and not worth knowing. He was mean, and he +was a coward; and to us in our uncompromising youth these were just the +unpardonable sins. Because of that we had left him alone; yes, come to +think of it, very much alone. And we knew little about him. + +"Here, I'll tell you what I know," Carter began again, in a more +conciliatory tone; "I'll tell you everything I know of him." He lit a +cheroot. + +"I first met him right here in Ilo-Ilo. I had crossed over for supplies; +he was fresh from Manila and wanted to get over to Bacolod to report to +the Sup. and be assigned to his station. When I saw him he was on the +_muelle_, surrounded by an army of bluffing _cargadores_. About twelve +of them had managed to get a finger upon his lone carpet-bag while it +was being carried down the gang-plank, and each and all of them wanted +to get paid for the job. He was in a horrible pickle; couldn't speak a +word of Spanish or Visayan. And the first thing he said when I had +extricated him, thanks to my vituperative knowledge of these sweet +tongues, was: 'If them niggahs, seh, think Ah'm a-goin' to learn their +cussed lingo, they're mahtily mistaken, seh!' + +"After that remark, coming straight from the heart, I hardly needed to +be told that he was from the South. He was from Mississippi. He was +gaunt, yellow, malarial, and slovenly. He had 'teached' for twenty +years, he said, but in spite of this there was about him something +indescribably rural, something of the sod--not the dignity, the +sturdiness of it, but rather of the pettiness, the sordidness of it. It +showed in his dirty, flapping garments, his unlaced shoes, his stubble +beard, in his indecent carelessness in expectorating the tobacco he was +ceaselessly chewing. But these, after all, were some of his minor +traits. I was soon to get an inkling of one of his major ones--his +prodigious meanness. For when I rushed about and finally found a lorcha +that was to sail for Bacolod and asked him to chip in with me on +provisions, he demurred. + +"'Ah'd like to git my own, seh,' he said in that decisive drawl of his. + +"'All right,' I said cheerfully, and went off and stocked up for two. My +instinct served me well. When, that evening, Miller walked up the +gang-plank, he carried only his carpet-bag, and that was flat and +hungry-looking as before. The next morning he shared my provisions +calmly and resolutely, with an air, almost, of conscious duty. Well, let +that go; before another day I was face to face with his other flaming +characteristic. + +"Out of Ilo-Ilo we had contrary winds at first; all night the lorcha--an +old grandmother of a craft, full of dry-rot spots as big as +woodpeckers' nests--flapped heavily about on impotent tacks, and when +the sun rose we found ourselves on the same spot from which we had +watched its setting. Toward ten o'clock, however, the monsoon veered, +and, wing-and-wing, the old boat, creaking in every joint as if she had +the dengue, grunted her way over flashing combers with a speed that +seemed almost indecent. Then, just as we were getting near enough to +catch the heated glitter of the Bacolod church-dome, to see the golden +thread of beach at the foot of the waving cocoanuts, the wind fell, +slap-bang, as suddenly as if God had said hush--and we stuck there, +motionless, upon a petrified sea. + +"I didn't stamp about and foam at the mouth; I'd been in these climes +too long. As for Miller, he was from Mississippi. We picked out a +comparatively clean spot on the deck, near the bow; we lay down on our +backs and relaxed our beings into infinite patience. We had been thus +for perhaps an hour; I was looking up at a little white cloud that +seemed receding, receding into the blue immensity behind it. Suddenly a +noise like thunder roared in my ears. The little cloud gave a great leap +back into its place; the roar dwindled into the voice of Miller, in +plaintive, disturbed drawl. 'What the deuce are the niggahs doing?' he +was saying. + +"And certainly the behavior of that Visayan crew was worthy of question. +Huddled quietly at the stern, one after another they were springing over +the rail into the small boat that was dragging behind, and even as I +looked the last man disappeared with the painter in his hand. At the +same moment I became aware of a strange noise. Down in the bowels of +the lorcha a weird, gentle commotion was going on, a multitudinous +'gluck-gluck' as of many bottles being emptied. A breath of hot, musty +air was sighing out of the hatch. Then the sea about the poop began to +rise,--to rise slowly, calmly, steadily, like milk in a heated pot. + +"'By the powers,' I shouted, 'the old tub is going down!' + +"It was true. There, upon the sunlit sea, beneath the serene sky, +silently, weirdly, unprovoked, the old boat, as if weary, was sinking in +one long sigh of lassitude. And we, of course, were going with it. A few +yards away from the stern-post was the jolly-boat with the crew. I +looked at them, and in my heart I could not condemn them for their sly +departure; they were all there, _arraiz_, wife, children, and crew, so +heaped together that they seemed only a meaningless tangle of arms and +legs and heads; the water was half an inch from the gunwale, and the one +man at the oars, hampered, paralyzed on all sides, was splashing +helplessly while the craft pivoted like a top. There was no anger in my +heart, yet I was not absolutely reconciled to the situation. I searched +the deck with my eyes, then from the jolly-boat the _arraiz_ obligingly +yelled, '_El biroto, el biroto_!' + +"And I remembered the rotten little canoe lashed amidships. It didn't +take us long to get it into the water (the water by that time was very +close at hand). I went carefully into it first so as to steady it for +Miller, and then, both of us at once, we saw that it would hold only +one. The bottom, a hollowed log, was stanch enough, but the sides, made +of pitched bamboo lattice, were sagging and torn. It would hold only +one. + +"'Well, who is it?' I asked. In my heart there was no craven panic, but +neither was there sacrifice. Some vague idea was in my mind, of deciding +who should get the place by some game of chance, tossing up a coin, for +instance. + +"But Miller said, 'Ah cain't affawd to take chances, seh; you must git +out.' + +"He spoke calmly, with great seriousness, but without undue emphasis--as +one enunciating an uncontrovertible natural law. I glanced up into his +face, and it was in harmony with his voice. He didn't seem particularly +scared; he was serious, that's all; his eyes were set in that peculiar, +wide-pupiled stare of the man contemplating his own fixed idea. + +"'No, seh; Ah cain't affawd it,' he repeated. + +"The absurdity of the thing suddenly tingled in me like wine. 'All +right!' I shouted, in a contagion of insanity; 'all right, take the +darned thing!' + +"And I got out. I got out and let him step stiffly into the boat, which +I obligingly sent spinning from the lorcha with one long, strong kick. +Then I was alone on the deck, which suddenly looked immense, stretched +on all sides, limitless as loneliness itself. A heavy torpor fell from +the skies and amid this general silence, this immobility, the cabin door +alone seemed to live, live in weird manifestation. It had been left +open, and now it was swinging and slamming to and fro jerkily, and +shuddering from top to bottom. Half in plan, half in mere irritation at +this senseless, incessant jigging, I sprang toward it and with one +nervous pull tore it, hinge and all, from the rotten woodwork. I heaved +it over the side, went in head first after it, took a few strokes and +lay, belly down, upon it. Just then the lorcha began to rise by the +head; the bowsprit went up slowly like a finger pointing solemnly to +heaven; then, without a sound, almost instantaneously, the whole fabric +disappeared. Across the now unoccupied space Miller and I rushed +smoothly toward each other, as if drawn by some gigantic magnet; our +crafts bumped gently, like two savages caressingly rubbing noses; they +swung apart a little and lay side by side, undulating slightly. + +"And we remained there, little black specks upon the flashing sea. Two +hundred yards away was the lorcha's boat; they had reshuffled themselves +more advantageously and were pulling slowly toward land. Not twenty feet +from me Miller sat upright in his canoe as if petrified. I was not so +badly off. The door floated me half out of water, and that was lukewarm, +so I knew that I could stand it a long time. What bothered me, though, +was that the blamed raft was not long enough; that is, the upper part of +my body being heavier, it took more door to support it, so that my feet +were projecting beyond the lower edge, and every second or so the +nibbling of some imaginary shark sent them flying up into the air in +undignified gymnastics. The consoling part of it was that Miller was +paying no notice. He still sat up, rigid, in his canoe, clutching the +sides stiffly and looking neither to right nor left. From where I lay I +could see the cords of his neck drawn taut, and his knuckles showing +white. + +"'Why the deuce don't you paddle to shore?' I shouted at length, taking +a sudden disgust of the situation. + +"He did not turn his head as he answered, 'Ah--Ah,' he stammered, the +words coming hard as hiccoughs out of his throat, 'Ah don't know haow.' + +"'Drop the sides of your boat and try,' I suggested. + +"He seemed to ponder carefully over this for a while. 'Ah think it's +safer to stay this-a-way,' he decided finally. + +"'But, good Lord, man,' I cried, angry at this calm stupidity, 'if +that's what you're going to do, you'd better get on this door here and +let me take the boat. I'll paddle ashore and come back for you.' + +"He turned his head slowly. He contemplated my raft long, carefully, +critically. + +"'Ah think Ah'll be safer heyah, seh,' he decided. 'It's a little bit o' +old door, and Ah reckon they's a heap of sharks around.' + +"After that I had little to say. Given the premises of the man, his +conclusions were unquestionable. And the premises were a selfishness so +tranquil, so ingenuous, so fresh, I might say, that I couldn't work up +the proper indignation. It was something so perfect as to challenge +admiration. On the whole, however, it afforded a poor subject for +conversation; so we remained there, taciturn, I on my door, +half-submerged in the tepid water, my heels flung up over my back, he in +his dugout, rigid, his hands clutching the sides as if he were trying to +hold up the craft out of the liquid abyss beneath. + +[Illustration: "NOT TWENTY FEET FROM ME MILLER SAT UPRIGHT IN HIS CANOE +AS IF PETRIFIED." FROM A PAINTING BY MERLE JOHNSON.] + +"And thus we were still when, just as the sun was setting somberly, a +velos full of chattering natives +picked us up. They landed us at Bacolod, and Miller left me to report to +the Sup. I departed before sun-up the next morning for my station. I +didn't want to see Miller again. + +"But I did. One night he came floundering through my pueblo. It was in +the middle of the rainy season. He wasn't exactly caked with mud; +rather, he seemed to ooze it out of every pore. He had been assigned to +Binalbagan, ten miles further down. I stared when he told me this. +Binalbagan was the worst post on the island, a musty, pestilential hole +with a sullenly hostile population, and he--well, inefficiency was +branded all over him in six-foot letters. I tried to stop him overnight, +but he would not do it, and I saw him splash off in the darkness, gaunt, +yellow, mournful. + +"I saw little of him after that. I was busy establishing new +barrio-schools, which were to give me excuses for long horseback rides +of inspection. I felt his presence down there in that vague way by which +you are aware of a person behind your back without turning around. +Rumors of his doings reached me. He was having a horrible time. On the +night of his arrival he had been invited to dinner by the Presidente, a +kind old primitive soul, but when he found that he was expected to sit +at the table with the family, he had stamped off, indignant, saying that +he didn't eat with no niggers. As I've said before, the town was +hostile, and this attitude did not help matters much. He couldn't get +the school moneys out of the Tesorero--an unmitigated rascal--but that +did not make much difference, for he had no pupils anyhow. He couldn't +speak a word of Spanish; no one in the town, of course, knew any +English--he must have been horribly lonely. He began to wear _camisas_, +like the natives. That's always a bad sign. It shows that the man has +discovered that there is no one to care how he dresses--that is, that +there is no longer any public opinion. It indicates something subtly +worse--that the man has ceased looking at himself, that the _I_ has +ceased criticising, judging, stiffening up the _me_,--in other words, +that there is no longer any conscience. That white suit, I tell you, is +a wonderful moral force; the white suit, put on fresh every morning, +heavily starched, buttoned up to the chin, is like an armor, +ironcladding you against the germ of decay buzzing about you, +ceaselessly vigilant for the little vulnerable spot. Miller wore +_camisas_, and then he began to go without shoes. I saw that myself. I +was riding through his pueblo on my way to Dent's, and I passed his +school. I looked into the open door as my head bobbed by at the height +of the stilt-raised floor. He was in his _camisa_ and barefooted; his +long neck stretched out of the collarless garment with a mournful, +stork-like expression. Squatting on the floor were three trouserless, +dirt-incrusted boys; he was pointing at a chart standing before their +eyes, and all together they were shouting some word that exploded away +down in their throats in tremendous effort and never seemed to reach +their lips. I called out and waved my hand as I went by, and when I +looked back, a hundred yards farther, I saw that he had come out upon +the bamboo platform outside of the door, gaping after me with his chin +thrown forward in that mournful, stork-like way--I should have gone +back. + +"With him, I must say, the _camisa_ did not mean all that I have +suggested, not the sort of degradation of which it is the symbol in +other men. The most extravagant imagination could not have linked him +with anything that smacked of romance, romance however sordid. His +vices, I had sized it, would come rather from an excess of calculation +than from a lack of it. No, that _camisa_ was just a sign of his +meanness, his prodigious meanness. And of that I was soon given an +extraordinary example. + +"I had with me a young fellow named Ledesma, whom I was training to be +assistant _maestro_. He was very bright, thirsty to learn, and extremely +curious of us white men. I don't believe that the actions of one of +them, for fifty miles around, ever escaped him, and every day he came to +me with some talk, some rumor, some gossip about my fellow-exiles which +he would relate to me with those strange interrogative inflections that +he had brought from his native dialect into English--as if perpetually +he were seeking explanation, confirmation. One morning he said to me: +'The _maestro_ Miller, he does not eat.' + +"'No?' I answered, absent-mindedly. + +"'No, he never eats,' he reiterated authoritatively, although that +peculiar Visayan inflection of which I have spoken gave him the air of +asking a question. + +"'Oh, I suppose he does,' I said, carelessly. + +"'He does not eat,' he repeated. 'Every one in Binalbagan say so. Since +he there, he has not bought anything at the store.' + +"'His _muchachos_ bring him chicken,' I suggested. + +"No, senor; he very funny; he has no _muchachos_; not one _muchacho_ has +he.' + +"'Well, he probably has canned provisions sent him.' + +"'No, senor; the _cargadores_ they say that never never have they +carried anything for him. He does not eat.' + +"'Very well,' I concluded, somewhat amused; 'he does not eat.' + +"The boy was silent for a minute, then, 'Senor Maestro,' he asked with +suspicious ingenuousness 'can Americans live without eating?' + +"So that I was not able to drop the subject as easily as I wished. And +coming to a forced consideration of it, I found that my anxiety to do so +was not very beautiful after all. A picture came to me--that of Miller +on his bamboo platform before his door, gazing mournfully after me, his +chin thrown forward. It did not leave me the day long, and at sundown I +saddled up and trotted off toward Binalbagan. + +"I didn't reach the pueblo that night, however. Only a mile from it I +plunged out of the moonlight into the pitch darkness of a hollow lane +cutting through Don Jaime's hacienda. Banana palms were growing thick to +right and left; the way was narrow and deep--it was a fine place for +cutthroats, but that avocation had lost much of its romantic charm from +the fact that, not three weeks before, an actual cutthroating had taken +place, a Chinese merchant having been boloed by _tusilanes_. Well, I was +trotting through, my right hand somewhat close to my holster, when from +the right, close, there came a soft, reiterated chopping noise. I pulled +up my pony. The sound kept up--a discreet, persistent chopping; then I +saw, up above, the moonlit top of a palm shuddering, though all about it +the others remained motionless, petrified as if of solid silver. It was +a very simple thing after all: some one in there was cutting down a palm +to get bananas, an occupation very common in the Philippines, and very +pacific, in spite of the ominous air given to it by the gigantic bolo +used. However, something prompted me to draw the midnight harvester out. + +"'Heh, _ladron_, what are you doing there?' I shouted in dialect. + +"'There was a most sudden silence. The chopping ceased, the palm stopped +vibrating. A vague form bounded down the lane, right up against my +horse's nose, rolled over, straightened up again, and vanished into the +darkness ahead. Unconsciously I spurred on after it. For a hundred yards +I galloped with nothing in sight. Then I caught a rapid view of the +thing as it burst through a shaft of moonlight piercing the glade, and +it showed as a man, a grotesque figure of a man in loose white +pantaloons. He was frightened, horribly frightened, all hunched up with +the frenzy to escape. An indistinct bundle was on his right shoulder. +Like a curtain the dark snapped shut behind him again, but I urged on +with a wild hallo, my blood all a-tingle with the exultation of the +chase. I gained--he must have been a lamentable runner, for my poor +little pony was staggering under my tumultuous weight. I could hear him +pant and sob a few yards in advance; then he came into sight, a dim, +loping whiteness ahead. Suddenly the bundle left his shoulder; something +rolled along the ground under my horse's hoofs--and I was standing on +my head in a soft, oozy place. I was mad, furiously mad. I picked myself +up, went back a few yards, and taking my pony by the nose picked _him_ +up. A touch of his throbbing flanks, however, warned me as I was putting +my foot into the stirrup. I left him there and thundered on foot down +the lane. I have said I was mad. 'Yip-yip-yah-ah, yip-yip-yah-ah!' I +yelled as I dashed on--a yell I had heard among California cattlemen. It +must have paralyzed that flying personage, for I gained upon him +shockingly. I could hear him pant, a queer, patient panting, a sigh +rather, a gentle, lamenting sighing, and the white _camisa_ flapped +ghostily in the darkness. Suddenly he burst out of obscurity, past the +plantation, into the glaring moonlight. And I--I stopped short, went +down on my hands and knees, and crouched back into the shadow. For the +man running was Miller; Miller, wild, sobbing, disheveled, his shoulders +drawn up to his ears in terrible weariness, his whole body taut with +fear, and scudding, scudding away, low along the ground, his chin +forward, mournful as a stork. Soon he was across the luminous space, and +then he disappeared into the darkness on the other side, flopped head +first into it as if hiding his face in a pillow. + +"I returned slowly to my horse. He was standing where I had left him, +his four legs far apart in a wide base. Between them was the thing cast +off by Miller which had thrown us. I examined it by the light of a box +of matches. It was a bunch of bananas, one of those gigantic clusters +which can be cut from the palms. I got on my horse and rode back home. + +"I didn't go to see him any more. A man who will steal bananas in a +country where they can be bought a dozen for one cent is too mean to be +worth visiting. I had another reason, too. It had dawned on me that +Miller probably did not care to see any of us, that he had come down to +a mode of life which would not leave him appreciative of confrontations +with past standards. It was almost charity to leave him to himself. + +"So I left him to himself, and he lived on in his pestilential little +hole, alone--lived a life more squalid every day. It wasn't at all a +healthy life, you can understand, no healthier physically than morally. +After a while I heard that he was looking bad, yellow as a lemon, and +the dengue cracking at his bones. I began to think of going to him after +all, of jerking him out of his rut by force, if necessary, making him +respect the traditions of his race. But just then came that Nichols +affair, and flaring, his other bad side--his abject +cowardice--reappeared to me. You remember the Nichols thing--boloed in +the dark between my town and Himamaylan. His _muchacho_ had jumped into +the ditch. Afterward he got out and ran back the whole way, fifteen +miles, to my place. I started down there. My idea was to pick up Miller +as I passed, then Dent a little further down, find the body, and perhaps +indications for White of the constabulary, to whom I had sent a +messenger and who could not reach the place till morning. Well, Miller +refused to go. He had caught hold of some rumor of the happening; he was +barricaded in his hut and was sitting on his bed, a big Colt's revolver +across his knees. He would not go, he said it plainly. 'No, seh; Ah +cain't take chances; Ah cain't affawd it.' He said this without much +fire, almost tranquilly, exactly as he had, you remember, at the time of +our shipwreck. It was not so amusing now, however. Here, on land, amid +this swarming, mysterious hostility, at this crisis, it seemed a +shocking betrayal of the solidarity that bound all us white men. A red +rage took possession of me. I stood there above him and poured out +vituperation for five good minutes. I found the most extraordinary +epithets; I lowered my voice and pierced him with venomous thrusts. He +took it all. He remained seated on his bed, his revolver across his +knees, looking straight at some spot on the floor; whenever I'd become +particularly effective he'd merely look harder at the spot, as if for +him it contained something of higher significance--a command, a rule, a +precept--I don't know what, and then he'd say, 'No, Ah cain't; Ah cain't +affawd it.' + +"I burst out of there, a-roar like a bombshell. I rode down to Dent; we +rode down to the place and did--what there was to be done. Miller I +never wanted to see again. + +"But I did. Some three weeks later a carrier came to me with a note--a +penciled scrawl upon a torn piece of paper. It read: + +"'I think I am dying. Can you come see me? 'MILLER.' + +"I went down right away. He was dead. He had died there, alone, in his +filthy little hut, in that God-forsaken pueblo, ten miles from the +nearest white man, ten thousand miles from his home. + +"I'll always remember our coming in. It was night. It had been raining +for thirty-six hours, and as we stepped into the unlighted hut, my +_muchacho_ and I, right away the floor grew sticky and slimy with the +mud on our feet, and as we groped about blindly, we seemed ankle-deep in +something greasy and abominable like gore. After a while the boy got a +torch outside, and as he flared it I caught sight of Miller on his cot, +backed up into one corner. He was sitting upright, staring straight +ahead and a little down, as if in careful consideration. As I stepped +toward him the pliable bamboo floor undulated; the movement was carried +to him and he began to nod, very gently and gravely. He seemed to be +saying: 'No, Ah cain't affawd it.' It was atrocious. Finally I was by +his side and he was again motionless, staring thoughtfully. Then I saw +he was considering. In his hands, which lay twined on his knees, were a +lot of little metallic oblongs. I disengaged them. The _muchacho_ drew +nearer, and with the torch over my shoulder I examined them. They were +photographs, cheap tintypes. The first was of a woman, a poor being, +sagging with overwork, a lamentable baby in her arms. The other pictures +were of children--six of them, boys and girls, of all ages from twelve +to three, and under each, in painful chirography, a name was +written--Lee Miller, Amy Miller, Geraldine Miller, and so on. + +"You don't understand, do you? For a moment I didn't. I stared stupidly +at those tintypes, shuffled and reshuffled them; the torch roared in my +ear. Then, suddenly, understanding came to me, sharp as a pang. He had a +wife and seven children. + +"A simple fact, wasn't it, a commonplace one, almost vulgar, you might +say. And yet what a change of view produced by it, what a dislocation of +judgment! I was like a man riding through a strange country, in a storm, +at night. It is dark, he cannot see, he has never seen the country, yet +as he rides on he begins to picture to himself the surroundings, his +imagination builds for him a landscape--a mountain there, a river here, +wind-streaming trees over there--and right away it exists, it _is_, it +has solidity, mass, life. Then suddenly comes a flash of lightning, a +second of light, and he is astounded, absolutely astounded to see the +real landscape different from that indestructible thing that his mind +had built. Thus it was with me. I had judged, oh, I had judged him +thoroughly, sized him up to a certainty, and bang, came the flare of +this new fact, this extremely commonplace fact, and I was all off. I +must begin to judge again, only it would never do that man any good. + +"A hundred memories came back to me, glared at me in the illumination of +that new fact. I remember the _camisa_, the bare feet. I saw him running +down the lane with his bunch of stolen bananas. I recalled that absurd +scene on the waters; I heard him say: 'No, seh; Ah cain't affawd to take +chances; Ah cain't affawd it.' + +"Of course he couldn't afford it. Think--a wife and seven children! + +"That night I went through his papers, putting things in order, and from +every leaf, every scrap, came corroboration of the new fact. He was one +of those pitiful pedagogues of the rural South, shiftless, +half-educated, inefficient. He had never been able to earn much, and +his family had always gently starved. Then had come the chance--the +golden chance--the Philippines and a thousand a year. He had taken the +bait, had come ten thousand miles to the spot of his maximum value. +Only, things had not gone quite right. Thanks to the beautiful red-tape +of the department, three months had gone before he had received his +first month's pay. Then it had come in Mex., and when he had succeeded +in changing it into gold it had dwindled to sixty dollars. Of course, he +had sent it all back, for even then it would take it six more weeks to +reach its destination, and sixty dollars is hardly too much to tide over +five months for a family of eight. These five months had to be caught up +in some way, so every month his salary, depreciated ten per cent by the +change, had gone across the waters. He wore _camisas_ and no shoes, he +stole bananas. And his value, shoeless, _camisa_-clothed, was sixty +dollars a month. He was just so much capital. He had to be careful of +that capital. + +"'Ah cain't affawd to take chances; Ah cain't affawd it.' Of course he +couldn't. + +"And so he had fought on blindly, stubbornly, and, at last, with that +pitiful faculty we have, all of us, of defeating our own plans, he had +killed himself, he had killed the capital, the golden goose. + +"Yes, I found confirmation, but, after all, I did not need it. I had +learned it all; understanding had come to me, swift, sharp, vital as a +pang, when in the roaring light of the torch I had looked upon the pale +little tintypes, the tintypes of Lee and Amy and Jackson and +Geraldine." + + + + +THE LEAGUE OF THE OLD MEN + +BY + +JACK LONDON + +_Copyright_, 1902, by the Macmillan Company Reprinted from CHILDREN OF +THE FROST by permission + + +AT THE Barracks a man was being tried for his life. He was an old man, a +native from the Whitefish River, which empties into the Yukon below Lake +Le Barge. All Dawson was wrought up over the affair, and likewise the +Yukon-dwellers for a thousand miles up and down. It has been the custom +of the land-robbing and sea-robbing Anglo-Saxon to give the law to +conquered peoples, and ofttimes this law is harsh. But in the case of +Imber the law for once seemed inadequate and weak. In the mathematical +nature of things, equity did not reside in the punishment to be accorded +him. The punishment was a foregone conclusion, there could be no doubt +of that; and though it was capital, Imber had but one life, while the +tale against him was one of scores. + +In fact, the blood of so many was upon his hands that the killings +attributed to him did not permit of precise enumeration. Smoking a pipe +by the trail-side or lounging around the stove, men made rough estimates +of the numbers that had perished at his hand. They had been whites, all +of them, these poor murdered people, and they had been slain singly, in +pairs, and in parties. And so purposeless and wanton had been these +killings, that they had long been a mystery to the mounted police, even +in the time of the captains, and later, when the creeks realized, and a +governor came from the Dominion to make the land pay for its prosperity. + +But more mysterious still was the coming of Imber to Dawson to give +himself up. It was in the late spring, when the Yukon was growling and +writhing under its ice, that the old Indian climbed painfully up the +bank from the river trail and stood blinking on the main street. Men who +had witnessed his advent, noted that he was weak and tottery, and that +he staggered over to a heap of cabin-logs and sat down. He sat there a +full day, staring straight before him at the unceasing tide of white men +that flooded past. Many a head jerked curiously to the side to meet his +stare, and more than one remark was dropped anent the old Siwash with so +strange a look upon his face. No end of men remembered afterward that +they had been struck by his extraordinary figure, and forever afterward +prided themselves upon their swift discernment of the unusual. + +But it remained for Dickensen, Little Dickensen, to be the hero of the +occasion. Little Dickensen had come into the land with great dreams and +a pocketful of cash; but with the cash the dreams vanished, and to earn +his passage back to the States he had accepted a clerical position with +the brokerage firm of Holbrook and Mason. Across the street from the +office of Holbrook and Mason was the heap of cabin-logs upon which Imber +sat. Dickensen looked out of the window at him before he went to lunch; +and when he came back from lunch he looked out of the window, and the +old Siwash was still there. + +Dickensen continued to look out of the window, and he, too, forever +afterward prided himself upon his swiftness of discernment. He was a +romantic little chap, and he likened the immobile old heathen the genius +of the Siwash race, gazing calm-eyed upon the hosts of the invading +Saxon. The hours swept along, but Imber did not vary his posture, did +not by a hair's-breadth move a muscle; and Dickensen remembered the man +who once sat upright on a sled in the main street where men passed to +and fro. They thought the man was resting, but later, when they touched +him, they found him stiff and cold, frozen to death in the midst of the +busy street. To undouble him, that he might fit into a coffin, they had +been forced to lug him to a fire and thaw him out a bit. Dickensen +shivered at the recollection. + +Later on, Dickensen went out on the sidewalk to smoke a cigar and cool +off; and a little later Emily Travis happened along. Emily Travis was +dainty and delicate and rare, and whether in London or Klondike, she +gowned herself as befitted the daughter of a millionaire mining +engineer. Little Dickensen deposited his cigar on an outside window +ledge where he could find it again, and lifted his hat. + +They chatted for ten minutes or so, when Emily Travis, glancing past +Dickensen's shoulder, gave a startled little scream. Dickensen turned +about to see, and was startled, too. Imber had crossed the street and +was standing there, a gaunt and hungry-looking shadow, his gaze riveted +upon the girl. + +"What do you want?" Little Dickensen demanded, tremulously plucky. + +Imber grunted and stalked up to Emily Travis. He looked her over, keenly +and carefully, every square inch of her. Especially did he appear +interested in her silky brown hair, and in the color of her cheek, +faintly sprayed and soft, like the downy bloom of a butterfly wing. He +walked around her, surveying her with the calculating eye of a man who +studies the lines upon which a horse or a boat is builded. In the course +of his circuit the pink shell of her ear came between his eye and the +westering sun, and he stopped to contemplate its rosy transparency. Then +he returned to her face and looked long and intently into her blue eyes. +He grunted and laid a hand on her arm midway between the shoulder and +elbow. With his other hand he lifted her forearm and doubled it back. +Disgust and wonder showed in his face, and he dropped her arm with a +contemptuous grunt. Then he muttered a few guttural syllables, turned +his back upon her, and addressed himself to Dickensen. + +Dickensen could not understand his speech, and Emily Travis laughed. +Imber turned from one to the other, frowning, but both shook their +heads. He was about to go away, when she called out: + +"Oh, Jimmy! Come here!" + +Jimmy came from the other side of the street. He was a big, hulking +Indian clad in approved white-man style, with an Eldorado king's +sombrero on his head. He talked with Imber, haltingly, with throaty +spasms. Jimmy was a Sitkan, possessed of no more than a passing +knowledge of the interior dialects. + +"Him Whitefish man," he said to Emily Travis. "Me savve um talk no very +much. Him want to look see chief white man." + +"The Governor," suggested Dickensen. + +Jimmy talked some more with the Whitefish man, and his face went grave +and puzzled. + +"I t'ink um want Cap'n Alexander," he explained. "Him say um kill white +man, white woman, white boy, plenty kill um white people. Him want to +die." + +"'Insane, I guess," said Dickensen. + +"What you call dat?" queried Jimmy. + +Dickensen thrust a finger figuratively inside his head and imparted a +rotary motion thereto. + +"Mebbe so, mebbe so," said Jimmy, returning to Imber, who still demanded +the chief man of the white men. + +A mounted policeman (unmounted for Klondike service) joined the group +and heard Imber's wish repeated. He was a stalwart young fellow, +broad-shouldered, deep-chested, legs cleanly built and stretched wide +apart, and tall though Imber was, he towered above him by half a head. +His eyes were cool, and gray, and steady, and he carried himself with +the peculiar confidence of power that is bred of blood and tradition. +His splendid masculinity was emphasized by his excessive boyishness,--he +was a mere lad,--and his smooth cheek promised a blush as willingly as +the cheek of a maid. + +Imber was drawn to him at once. The fire leaped into his eyes at sight +of a sabre slash that scarred his cheek. He ran a withered hand down the +young fellow's leg and caressed the swelling thew. He smote the broad +chest with his knuckles, and pressed and prodded the thick muscle-pads +that covered the shoulders like a cuirass. The group had been added to +by curious passers-by--husky miners, mountaineers, and frontiersmen, +sons of the long-legged and broad-shouldered generations. Imber glanced +from one to another, then he spoke aloud in the Whitefish tongue. + +"What did he say?" asked Dickensen. + +"Him say um all the same one man, dat p'liceman," Jimmy interpreted. + +Little Dickensen was little, and what of Miss Travis, he felt sorry for +having asked the question. + +The policeman was sorry for him and stepped into the breach. "I fancy +there may be something in his story. I'll take him up to the captain for +examination. Tell him to come along with me, Jimmy." + +Jimmy indulged in more throaty spasms, and Imber grunted and looked +satisfied. + +"But ask him what he said, Jimmy, and what he meant when he took hold of +my arm." + +So spoke Emily Travis, and Jimmy put the question and received the +answer. + +"Him say you no afraid," said Jimmy. + +Emily Travis looked pleased. + +"Him say you no _skookum_, no strong, all the same very soft like little +baby. Him break you, in um two hands, to little pieces. Him t'ink much +funny, very strange, how you can be mother of men so big, so strong, +like dat p'liceman." + +Emily Travers kept her eyes up and unfaltering, but her cheeks were +sprayed with scarlet. Little Dickensen blushed and was quite +embarrassed. The policeman's face blazed with his boy's blood. + +"Come along, you," he said gruffly, setting his shoulder to the crowd +and forcing a way. + +Thus it was that Imber found his way to the Barracks, where he made full +and voluntary confession, and from the precincts of which he never +emerged. + + * * * * * + +Imber looked very tired. The fatigue of hopelessness and age was in his +face. His shoulders drooped depressingly, and his eyes were lack-luster. +His mop of hair should have been white, but sun--and weather-beat had +burned and bitten it so that it hung limp and lifeless and colorless. He +took no interest in what went on around him. The court-room was jammed +with the men of the creeks and trails, and there was an ominous note in +the rumble and grumble of their low-pitched voices, which came to his +ears like the growl of the sea from deep caverns. + +He sat close by a window, and his apathetic eyes rested now and again on +the dreary scene without. The sky was overcast, and a gray drizzle was +falling. It was flood-time on the Yukon. The ice was gone, and the river +was up in the town. Back and forth on the main street, in canoes and +poling-boats, passed the people that never rested. Often he saw these +boats turn aside from the street and enter the flooded square that +marked the Barracks' parade-ground. Sometimes they disappeared beneath +him, and he heard them jar against the house-logs and their occupants +scramble in through the window. After that came the slush of water +against men's legs as they waded across the lower room and mounted the +stairs. Then they appeared in the doorway, with doffed hats and +dripping sea-boots, and added themselves to the waiting crowd. + +And while they centered their looks on him, and in grim anticipation +enjoyed the penalty he was to pay, Imber looked at them, and mused on +their ways, and on their Law that never slept, but went on unceasing, in +good times and bad, in flood and famine, through trouble and terror and +death, and which would go on unceasing, it seemed to him, to the end of +time. + +A man rapped sharply on a table, and the conversation droned away into +silence. Imber looked at the man. He seemed one in authority, yet Imber +divined the square-browed man who sat by a desk farther back to be the +one chief over them all and over the man who had rapped. Another man by +the same table uprose and began to read aloud from many fine sheets of +paper. At the top of each sheet he cleared his throat, at the bottom +moistened his fingers. Imber did not understand his speech, but the +others did, and he knew that it made them angry. Sometimes it made them +very angry, and once a man cursed him, in single syllables, stinging and +tense, till a man at the table rapped him to silence. + +For an interminable period the man read. His monotonous, sing-song +utterance lured Imber to dreaming, and he was dreaming deeply when the +man ceased. A voice spoke to him in his own Whitefish tongue, and he +roused up, without surprise, to look upon the face of his sister's son, +a young man who had wandered away years agone to make his dwelling with +the whites. + +"Thou dost not remember me," he said by way of greeting. + +"Nay," Imber answered. "Thou art Howkan who went away. Thy mother be +dead." + +"She was an old woman," said Howkan. + +But Imber did not hear, and Howkan, with hand upon his shoulder, roused +him again. + +"I shall speak to thee what the man has spoken, which is the tale of the +troubles thou hast done and which thou hast told, O fool, to the Captain +Alexander. And thou shalt understand and say if it be true talk or talk +not true. It is so commanded." + +Howkan had fallen among the mission folk and been taught by them to read +and write. In his hands he held the many fine sheets from which the man +had read aloud and which had been taken down by a clerk when Imber first +made confession, through the mouth of Jimmy, to Captain Alexander. +Howkan began to read. Imber listened for a space, when a wonderment rose +up in his face and he broke in abruptly. + +"That be my talk, Howkan. Yet from thy lips it comes when thy ears have +not heard." + +Howkan smirked with self-appreciation. His hair was parted in the +middle. "Nay, from the paper it comes, O Imber. Never have my ears +heard. From the paper it comes, through my eyes, into my head, and out +of my mouth to thee. Thus it comes." + +"Thus it comes? It be there in the paper?" Imber's voice sank in +whisperful awe as he crackled the sheets 'twixt thumb and finger and +stared at the charactery scrawled thereon. "It be a great medicine, +Howkan, and thou art a worker of wonders." + +"It be nothing, it be nothing," the young man responded carelessly and +pridefully. He read at hazard from the document: "_In that year, before +the break of the ice, came an old man, and a boy who was lame of one +foot. These also did I kill, and the old man made much noise_----" + +"It be true," Imber interrupted breathlessly, "He made much noise and +would not die for a long time. But how dost thou know, Howkan? The chief +man of the white men told thee, mayhap? No one beheld me, and him alone +have I told." + +Howkan shook his head with impatience. "Have I not told thee it be there +in the paper, O fool?" + +Imber stared hard at the ink-scrawled surface. "As the hunter looks upon +the snow and says, Here but yesterday there passed a rabbit; and here by +the willow scrub it stood and listened, and heard, and was afraid; and +here it turned upon its trail; and here it went with great swiftness, +leaping wide; and here, with greater swiftness and wider leapings, came +a lynx; and here, where the claws cut deep into the snow, the lynx made +a very great leap; and here it struck, with the rabbit under and rolling +belly up; and here leads off the trail of the lynx alone, and there is +no more rabbit,--as the hunter looks upon the markings of the snow and +says thus and so and here, dost thou, too, look upon the paper and say +thus and so and here be the things old Imber hath done?" + +"Even so," said Howkan. "And now do thou listen, and keep thy woman's +tongue between thy teeth till thou art called upon for speech." + +Thereafter, and for a long time, Howkan read to him the confession, and +Imber remained musing and silent. At the end, he said: + +"It be my talk, and true talk, but I am grown old, Howkan, and forgotten +things come back to me which were well for the head man there to know. +First, there was the man who came over the Ice Mountains, with cunning +traps made of iron, who sought the beaver of the Whitefish. Him I slew. +And there were three men seeking gold on the Whitefish long ago. Them +also I slew, and left them to the wolverines. And at the Five Fingers +there was a man with a raft and much meat." + +At the moments when Imber paused to remember, Howkan translated and a +clerk reduced to writing. The court-room listened stolidly to each +unadorned little tragedy, till Imber told of a red-haired man whose eyes +were crossed and whom he had killed with a remarkably long shot. + +"Hell," said a man in the forefront of the onlookers. He said it +soulfully and sorrowfully. He was red-haired. "Hell," he repeated. "That +was my brother Bill." And at regular intervals throughout the session, +his solemn "Hell" was heard in the court-room; nor did his comrades +check him, nor did the man at the table rap him to order. + +Imber's head drooped once more, and his eyes went dull, as though a film +rose up and covered them from the world. And he dreamed as only age can +dream upon the colossal futility of youth. + +Later, Howkan roused him again, saying: "Stand up, O Imber. It be +commanded that thou tellest why you did these troubles, and slew these +people, and at the end journeyed here seeking the Law." + +Imber rose feebly to his feet and swayed back and forth. He began to +speak in a low and faintly rumbling voice, but Howkan interrupted him. + +"This old man, he is damn crazy," he said in English to the +square-browed man. "His talk is foolish and like that of a child." + +"We will hear his talk which is like that of a child," said the +square-browed man. "And we will hear it, word for word, as he speaks it. +Do you understand?" + +Howkan understood, and Imber's eyes flashed for he had witnessed the +play between his sister's son and the man in authority. And then began +the story, the epic of a bronze patriot which might well itself be +wrought into bronze for the generations unborn. The crowd fell strangely +silent, and the square-browed judge leaned head on hand and pondered his +soul and the soul of his race. Only was heard the deep tones of Imber, +rhythmically alternating with the shrill voice of the interpreter, and +now and again, like the bell of the Lord, the wondering and meditative +"Hell" of the red-haired man. + +"I am Imber of the Whitefish people." So ran the interpretation of +Howkan, whose inherent barbarism gripped hold of him, and who lost his +mission culture and veneered civilization as he caught the savage ring +and rhythm of old Imber's tale. "My father was Otsbaok, a strong man. +The land was warm with sunshine and gladness when I was a boy. The +people did not hunger after strange things, nor hearken to new voices, +and the ways of their fathers were their ways. The women found favor in +the eyes of the young men, and the young men looked upon them with +content. Babes hung at the breasts of the women, and they were +heavy-hipped with increase of the tribe. Men were men in those days. In +peace and plenty, and in war and famine, they were men. + +"At that time there was more fish in the water than now, and more meat +in the forest. Our dogs were wolves, warm with thick hides and hard to +the frost and storm. And as with our dogs, so with us, for we were +likewise hard to the frost and storm. And when the Pellys came into our +land we slew them and were slain. For we were men, we Whitefish, and our +fathers and our fathers' fathers had fought against the Pellys and +determined the bounds of the land. + +"As I say, with our dogs, so with us. And one day came the first white +man. He dragged himself, so, on hand and knee, in the snow. And his skin +was stretched tight, and his bones were sharp beneath. Never was such a +man, we thought, and we wondered of what strange tribe he was, and of +its land. And he was weak, most weak, like a little child, so that we +gave him a place by the fire, and warm furs to lie upon, and we gave him +food as little children are given food. + +"And with him was a dog, large as three of our dogs, and very weak. The +hair of this dog was short, and not warm, and the tail was frozen so +that the end fell off. And this strange dog we fed, and bedded by the +fire, and fought from it our dogs, which else would have killed him. And +what of the moose meat and the sun-dried salmon, the man and dog took +strength to themselves; and what of the strength, they became big and +unafraid. And the man spoke loud words and laughed at the old men and +young men, and looked boldly upon the maidens. And the dog fought with +our dogs, and for all of his short hair and softness slew three of them +in one day. + +"When we asked the man concerning his people he said, 'I have many +brothers,' and laughed in a way that was not good. And when he was in +his full strength he went away, and with him went Noda, daughter to the +chief. First, after that, was one of our bitches brought to pup. And +never was there such a breed of dogs,--big-headed, thick-jawed, and +short-haired, and helpless. Well do I remember my father, Otsbaok, a +strong man. His face was black with anger at such helplessness, and he +took a stone, so, and so, and there was no more helplessness. And two +summers after that came Noda back to us with a man-child in the hollow +of her arm. + +"And that was the beginning. Came a second white man, with short-haired +dogs, which he left behind him when he went. And with him went six of +our strongest dogs, for which, in trade, he had given Koo-So-Tee, my +mother's brother, a wonderful pistol that fired with great swiftness six +times. And Koo-So-Tee was very big, what of the pistol, and laughed at +our bows and arrows. 'Woman's things,' he called them, and went forth +against the bald-face grizzly, with the pistol in his hand. Now it be +known that it is not good to hunt the bald-face with a pistol, but how +were we to know? and how was Koo-So-Tee to know? So he went against the +bald-face, very brave, and fired the pistol with great swiftness six +times; and the bald-face but grunted and broke in his breast like it +were an egg and like honey from a bee's nest dripped the brains of +Koo-So-Tee upon the ground. He was a good hunter, and there was no one +to bring meat to his squaw and children. And we were bitter, and we said +'That which for the white men is well, is for us not well.' And this be +true. There be many white men and fat, but their ways have made us few +and lean. + +"Came the third white man, with great wealth of all manner of wonderful +foods and things. And twenty of our strongest dogs he took from us in +trade. Also, what of presents and great promises, ten of our young +hunters did he take with him on a journey which fared no man knew where. +It is said they died in the snow of the Ice Mountains where man has +never been, or in the Hills of Silence which are beyond the edge of the +earth. Be that as it may, dogs and young hunters were seen never again +by the Whitefish people. + +"And more white men came with the years, and ever, with pay and +presents, they led the young men away with them. And sometimes the young +men came back with strange tales of dangers and toils in the lands +beyond the Pellys, and sometimes they did not come back. And we said: +'If they be unafraid of life, these white men, it is because they have +many lives; but we be few by the Whitefish, and the young men shall go +away no more.' But the young men did go away; and the young women went +also; and we were very wroth. + +"It be true, we ate flour, and salt pork, and drank tea which was a +great delight; only, when we could not get tea, it was very bad and we +became short of speech and quick of anger. So we grew to hunger for the +things the white men brought in trade. Trade! trade! all the time was it +trade! One winter we sold our meat for clocks that would not go, and +watches with broken guts, and files worn smooth, and pistols without +cartridges and worthless. And then came famine, and we were without +meat, and two-score died ere the break of spring. + +"'Now are we grown weak,' we said; 'and the Pellys will fall upon us, +and our bounds be overthrown.' But as it fared with us, so had it fared +with the Pellys, and they were too weak to come against us. + +"My father, Otsbaok, a strong man, was now old and very wise. And he +spoke to the chief, saying: 'Behold, our dogs be worthless. No longer +are they thick-furred and strong, and they die in the frost and harness. +Let us go into the village and kill them, saving only the wolf ones, and +these let us tie out in the night that they may mate with the wild +wolves of the forest. Thus shall we have dogs warm and strong again.' + +"And his word was harkened to, and we Whitefish became known for our +dogs, which were the best in the land. But known we were not for +ourselves. The best of our young men and women had gone away with the +white men to wander on trail and river to far places. And the young +women came back old and broken, as Noda had come, or they came not at +all. And the young men came back to sit by our fires for a time, full +of ill speech and rough ways, drinking evil drinks and gambling through +long nights and days, with a great unrest always in their hearts, till +the call of the white men came to them and they went away again to the +unknown places. And they were without honor and respect, jeering the +old-time customs and laughing in the faces of chief and shamans. + +"As I say, we were become a weak breed, we Whitefish. We sold our warm +skins and furs for tobacco and whiskey and thin cotton things that left +us shivering in the cold. And the coughing sickness came upon us, and +men and women coughed and sweated through the long nights, and the +hunters on trail spat blood upon the snow. And now one, and now another, +bled swiftly from the mouth and died. And the women bore few children, +and those they bore were weak and given to sickness. And other +sicknesses came to us from the white men, the like of which we had never +known and could not understand. Smallpox, likewise measles, have I heard +these sicknesses named, and we died of them as die the salmon in the +still eddies when in the fall their eggs are spawned and there is no +longer need for them to live. + +"And yet, and here be the strangeness of it, the white men come as the +breath of death; all their ways lead to death, their nostrils are filled +with it; and yet they do not die. Theirs the whiskey, and tobacco, and +short-haired dogs; theirs the many sicknesses, the smallpox and measles, +the coughing and mouth-bleeding; theirs the white skin, and softness to +the frost and storm; and theirs the pistols that shoot six times very +swift and are worthless. And yet they grow fat on their many ills, and +prosper, and lay a heavy hand over all the world and tread mightily upon +its peoples. And their women, too, are soft as little babes, most +breakable and never broken, the mothers of men. And out of all this +softness, and sickness, and weakness, come strength, and power, and +authority. They be gods, or devils, as the case may be. I do not know. +What do I know, I, old Imber of the Whitefish? Only do I know that they +are past understanding, these white men, far-wanderers and fighters over +the earth that they be. + +"As I say, the meat in the forest became less and less. It be true, the +white man's gun is most excellent and kills a long way off; but of what +worth the gun, when there is no meat to kill? When I was a boy on the +Whitefish there was moose on every hill, and each year came the caribou +uncountable. But now the hunter may take the trail ten days and not one +moose gladden his eyes, while the caribou uncountable come no more at +all. Small worth the gun, I say, killing a long way off, when there be +nothing to kill. + +[Illustration: "ALL THEIR WAYS LEAD TO DEATH" +FROM A PAINTING BY MAYNARD DIXON.] + +"And I, Imber, pondered upon these things, watching the while the +Whitefish, and the Pellys, and all the tribes of the land, perishing as +perished the meat of the forest. Long I pondered. I talked with the +shamans and the old men who were wise. I went apart that the sounds of +the village might not disturb me, and I ate no meat, so that my belly +should not press upon me and make me slow of eye and ear. I sat long and +sleepless in the forest, wide-eyed for the sign, my ears patient and +keen for the word that +was to come. And I wandered alone in the blackness of night to the river +bank, where was wind-moaning and sobbing of water, and where I sought +wisdom from the ghosts of old shamans in the trees and dead and gone. + +"And in the end, as in a vision, came to me the short-haired and +detestable dogs, and the way seemed plain. By the wisdom of Otsbaok, my +father and a strong man, had the blood of our own wolf-dogs been kept +clean, wherefore had they remained warm of hide and strong in the +harness. So I returned to my village and made oration to the men. 'This +be a tribe, these white men,' I said. 'A very large tribe, and doubtless +there is no longer meat in their land, and they are come among us to +make a new land for themselves. But they weaken us, and we die. They are +a very hungry folk. Already has our meat gone from us, and it were well, +if we would live, that we deal by them as we have dealt by their dogs.' + +"And further oration I made, counseling fight. And the men of the +Whitefish listened, and some said one thing, and some another, and some +spoke of other and worthless things, and no man made brave talk of deeds +and war. But while the young men were weak as water and afraid, I +watched that the old men sat silent, and that in their eyes fires came +and went. And later, when the village slept and no one knew, I drew the +old men away into the forest and made more talk. And now we were agreed, +and we remembered the good young days, and the free land, and the times +of plenty, and the gladness and sunshine; and we called ourselves +brothers, and swore great secrecy, and a mighty oath to cleanse the +land of the evil breed that had come upon it. It be plain we were fools, +but how were we to know, we old men of the Whitefish? + +"And to hearten the others, I did the first deed. I kept guard upon the +Yukon till the first canoe came down. In it were two white men, and when +I stood upright upon the bank and raised my hand they changed their +course and drove in to me. And as the man in the bow lifted his head, +so, that he might know wherefore I wanted him, my arrow sang through the +air straight to his throat, and he knew. The second man, who held paddle +in the stern, had his rifle half to his shoulder when the first of my +three spear-casts smote him. + +"'These be the first,' I said, when the old men had gathered to me. +'Later we will bind together all the old men of all the tribes, and +after that the young men who remain strong, and the work will become +easy.' + +"And then the two dead white men we cast into the river. And of the +canoe, which was a very good canoe, we made a fire, and a fire, also, of +the things within the canoe. But first we looked at the things, and they +were pouches of leather which we cut open with our knives. And inside +these pouches were many papers, like that from which thou hast read, O +Howkan, with markings on them which we marveled at and could not +understand. Now, I am become wise, and I know them for the speech of men +as thou hast told me." + +A whisper and buzz went around the court-room when Howkan finished +interpreting the affair of the canoe, and one man's voice spoke up: +"That was the lost '91 mail, Peter James and Delaney bringing it in and +last spoken at Le Barge by Matthews going out." The clerk scratched +steadily away, and another paragraph was added to the history of the +North. + +"There be little more," Imber went on slowly. "It be there on the paper, +the things we did. We were old men, and we did not understand. Even I, +Imber, do not now understand. Secretly we slew, and continued to slay, +for with our years we were crafty and we had learned the swiftness of +going without haste. When white men came among us with black looks and +rough words, and took away six of the young men with irons binding them +helpless, we knew we must slay wider and farther. And one by one we old +men departed up river and down to the unknown lands. It was a brave +thing. Old we were, and unafraid, but the fear of far places is a +terrible fear to men who are old. + +"So we slew, without haste, and craftily. On the Chilkoot and in the +Delta we slew, from the passes to the sea, wherever the white men camped +or broke their trails. It be true, they died, but it was without worth. +Ever did they come over the mountains, ever did they grow and grow, +while we, being old, became less and less. I remember, by the Caribou +Crossing, the camp of a white man. He was a very little white man, and +three of the old men came upon him in his sleep. And the next day I came +upon the four of them. The white man alone still breathed, and there was +breath in him to curse me once and well before he died. + +"And so it went, now one old man, and now another. Sometimes the word +reached us long after of how they died, and sometimes it did not reach +us. And the old men of the other tribes were weak and afraid, and would +not join with us. As I say, one by one, till I alone was left. I am +Imber, of the Whitefish people. My father was Otsbaok, a strong man. +There are no Whitefish now. Of the old men I am the last. The young men +and young women are gone away, some to live with the Pellys, some with +the Salmons, and more with the white men. I am very old, and very tired, +and it being vain fighting the Law, as thou sayest, Howkan, I am come +seeking the Law." + +"O Imber, thou art indeed a fool," said Howkan. + +But Imber was dreaming. The square-browed judge likewise dreamed, and +all his race rose up before him in a mighty phantasmagoria--his +steel-shod, mail-clad race, the law-giver and world-maker among the +families of men. He saw it dawn red-flickering across the dark forests +and sullen seas; he saw it blaze, bloody and red, to full and triumphant +noon; and down the shaded slope he saw the blood-red sands dropping into +night. And through it all he observed the Law, pitiless and potent, ever +unswerving and ever ordaining, greater than the motes of men who +fulfilled it or were crushed by it, even as it was greater than he, his +heart speaking for softness. + + + + +DOWN THE FLUME WITH THE SNEATH PIANO + +BY + +BAILEY MILLARD + +Reprinted from _The Century Magazine_ by permission + + +I HAD halted at Camp Five to catch my breath. This flying down a Sierran +lumber-flume, scurrying through the heady air like another Phaeton, was +too full of thrills to be taken all in one gasp. I dropped limply into +the rawhide-bottomed chair under the awning in front of the big board +shanty which was on stilts beside the airy flume, and gazed on down the +long, gleaming, tragic, watery way to the next steep slide. Then I +looked at the frail little flume-boat which had borne Oram Sheets and me +thus far on our hazardous journey to the valley. Perhaps I shivered a +bit at the prospect of more of this hair-raising adventure. At any rate, +Oram, the intrepid flume-herder, laughed, dug his picaroon into a log, +and asked: + +"Sorry yeh come? Wal, it does git onto a man's nerve the first trip. +Strange so many brash ones like you wanter try, but few on 'em ever dast +git in ag'in. But I've be'n down so often." Then he peered about the +cabin. "Looks like none o' the boys was to home. Wish they was; they +might git us up a little dinner. It's jest twelve." + +He went inside the open door, and I heard him foraging about, the +shanty echoing hollowly to the clumping of his big boots. By and by his +nasal note was resumed: + +"Come in, pardner! Here's a great find: a big can o' green gages an' a +hunk o' jerk an' a lot o' cold biscuits." + +Inside, with my legs under the greasy, coverless table, I chewed the +jerk like one who was determined to give his jaws the benefit of +strenuous physical culture, and listened while Oram rattled on, with his +mouth full of the sodden, half-baked biscuits. + +"You mightn't think it," said he, "but three years ago this here was the +most scrumptious camp on the hull flume. Ol' man Hemenway lived here +then with his daughter Jess. She kep' house fer him. Jess was a great +gal. Every man along the flume, from Skyland to Mill Flat, was in love +with her. Shape? You couldn't beat that there gal for figger if yeh was +to round up every actress in the country. She had a pair o' big round +baby-blue eyes, an' was as pretty as any o' them there cigarette +picters. A little on the strawbary-blonde, but not too much red in her +hair, an' yet spunky as a badger when yeh teased her. + +"The boys down this way didn't have much show. It looked like Jess had +hit it off with Jud Brusie, a big, husky, clean-lookin' chap up to the +h'ist. Jud used ter send her down notes stuck in sticks wedged inter the +clamps, an' he used ter sneak down this way on Sundays when he'd git a +chanst. She'd meet him up to the Riffles there by that big bunch o' +yaller pines we passed. He didn't dast come down here nary time till ol' +man Hemenway he got laid up with a busted laig from slippin' off the +trestle in the snow. That there was Jud's show ter git in his fine work. +Used ter bring down deer-meat for the ol' man, an' sody-water from that +there spoutin' spring up ter Crazy Canon; an' it begun to look like +Hemenway'd give in an' let him have her. But he seemed to hold off. + +"The boys used ter nearly josh the life out o' Jud. One fellow--his name +was Phil Pettis--was skunkin' mean enough to read a note Jud sent down +oncet an' tell about it roun' Skyland; but that was the only time any of +'em ever done anything like that, fer Jud jest laid fer Phil an' went +through him like a buzz-saw an' chucked him inter the flume. + +"No, it didn't kill Phil, but he got tol'able well used up. His clothes +was nearly all tore off, an' his hands got some bruised where he caught +on to the aidges before he got a holt an' lifted himself out in a still +place. He'd be'n all right only he got mixed up with a string o' lumber +that was a-comin' down, an' so he had to go to the hospital. + +"One thing about Jess--she was a singer all right. I ain't never heer'd +ary one o' them there the-_ay_-ter gals that could beat her singin'. She +warbled like a lark with his belly full o' grubworms. It was wuth ridin' +a clamp from here to Mill Flat to hear her sing. She had a couple o' +hymn-books an' a stack o' them coon songs the newspapers gives away, an' +I tell yeh, she'd sing them there songs like she'd knowed 'em all her +life. Picked out the tunes some ways on a little string-thing like a +sawed-off guitar. Sounds like muskeeters hummin' aroun'. Yes, a +mandy-linn--that's it. But that there mandy-linn didn't soot her a +little bit. She was crazy ter have a pianner. I heer'd her tell her paw, +who was aroun' ag'in workin' after his busted laig got well, she'd give +ten years o' her life for any ol' cheap pianner he could skeer up fer +her. + +"'Wal,' says he, 'how in tunket am I a-goin' ter git anything like +that--thirty miles off'n the road, an' nary way o' freightin' it up or +down the canon to this camp?' + +"'Couldn't yeh have it brung up to Skyland by the stage road,' asts she, +'an' then have it rafted down the flume? Jest a little one?' she asts +very earnest-like. + +"'Gee whittaker!' says he, laughin' all over. 'You'll be a-wantin' 'em +to send yeh down a parlor-keer nex'.' + +"Then she gits hot in the collar an' cries an' takes on, an' Jud, who +was a-hangin' aroun', has to walk her up to the Riffles; an' he must 'a' +comforted her a heap, fer she comes back alone, singin,' 'Nearer, my +God, to Thee,' like a angel. + +"The' was a big spill up to the Devil's Gate,--one o' them places back +there where the flume hangs onto the side o' the cliff, about half a +mile above the bottom o' the gulch,--an' Jud Brusie an' all hands has to +work there three days an' nights ter git things straightened out. Jud +worked so derned hard, up all night an' hangin' on ter the ropes he was +let up an' down by till yeh'd think he was ready to drop, that the +soop'rintendent said he'd make Jud flume boss when he got back from Noo +York, where he was a-goin' fer a few months. The soop'rintendent--that's +Mr. Sneath--went over the hull flume with Jud a little while before he +lit out for the East, p'intin' things out ter him that he wanted did +when he got back. I was down here flume-herdin' at Five when him an' Jud +come along in a dude-lookin' flume-boat, rigged out in great style. I +stopped 'em back there a ways with my picaroon, when they sung out, an' +they walked down here on the side planks. Jest as they got near the camp +the soop'rintendent he stopped like he'd struck a rotten plank an' +stared at the house. + +"'Who's that singin'?' says he. + +"'Miss. Hemenway,' says Jud, proud-like. + +"'She's got an awful sweet voice,' says the ol' man. 'It oughter be +trained. She ought to go to a hot-house'--or something like that. +'Conservatory?' Yes, that's it. + +"'She's mighty anxious to l'arn,' says Jud. 'She wants a pianner awful +bad.' + +"'Does she?' says the soop'rintendent. 'She oughter have one.' + +"When he come along to the house he says to Jess, who stuck her head +outer the door an' looked kinder skeer'd-like, says he, 'I wish yeh'd +sing a few songs fer me.' + +"Wal, yeh could see wal enough that Jess's knees was a-knockin' +together, but she tunes up her mandy-linn, scratches at the strings with +a little chip, an' gits started all right on 'Rock o' Ages,' an' gits to +goin' along kinder quavery-like fer a while, an' then she busts right +inter, 'He'r dem Bells,' so strong an' high an' wild that it takes the +ol' man right out o' his boots. + +"He claps his hands an' yells, 'Hooray! Give us another!' + +"Then she saws along on, 'Gather at the River,' an' chops inter, 'All +Coons Looks Alike ter Me,' in a way to stop the mill. + +"Her paw stan's aroun' all the while, tickled t' death an' smilin' all +over. + +"'Wal,' says the soop'rintendent, when Jess she stops ter git her wind, +'yer all right, Miss. Hemenway. Yer as full o' music as a wind-harp in a +tornado.' Then he says to her paw on the Q. T., 'If yeh was ter let that +gal go ter the city an' l'arn some o' them high-toned op'ry songs, yeh +wouldn't have to be picaroonin' lumber strings much longer.' + +"'Yes,' says Hemenway, bloated up like a gobbler an' lookin' at Jess +where she stan's with her face red an' still a-puffin' for breath; 'an' +she thinks she could l'arn right here if she only had a pianner.' + +"'She'd oughter have one,' says Mr. Sneath. 'I wish----' he says, an' +then he breaks off like a busted log-chain. 'But we couldn't git it down +here.' + +'"What's that?' asts Hemenway. + +"'We got a pianner up to our place, an' Mrs. Sneath won't be a-fingerin' +on it fer five months. She's a-goin' East with me. If we could only git +it down here an' back all right. If the' 's only a road from Skyland +down here or from Mill Flat up, but the' ain't, so the' 's no use +talkin'. Couldn't ship it down to the Flat an' up on mule-back, or +nothin', either; so I guess it can't be did.' + +"'Why not send it down the flume?' asts Jess, timid-like. I could see +she was jest crazy about gittin' it. + +"'Oh, the flume is old, an' it's rotten in places, an' such a heavy load +might go through.' + +"'Why, it holds up the grub-boat all right,' says Jess 'Oh, if I could +only have that pianner down here! I can play a little already, an' I'd +l'arn a lot. I'd practise eight hours a day.' + +"'How about gittin' the meals?' asts Hemenway. + +"'Wal, I'd set up, then, an' practise all night,' says she. + +"'I'm afeard that 'u'd be pretty hard on yer paw,' says Mr. Sneath, +smilin'. 'Wal, Jud, we got ter be goin'.' + +"So they gits inter their dude boat, an' Jess she skips along after 'em, +an' jest as they's about to ontie she yells out to the soop'rintendent: + +"'Cain't I have it? Cain't I have it? Cain't yeh send it down the flume? +Please say yeh will. I'll take the best kind o' keer of it. It sha'n't +git a single scratch.' + +"Mr. Sneath he looks at her a minute kinder tender-like, an' I knowed +them big eyes o' hern was a-doin' their work. Them big soft baby eyes +would 'a' drawed sap outer a dead log. + +"'Wal,' says he, 'we'll see. If Mrs. Sneath's willin' I guess it'll be +all right.' + +"'Thank you, thank you, thank you!' she yells as the boat flies down the +flume. + +"I seed Jud blow a kiss to her, an' I knowed she was happy as a bird. +She was a-singin' aroun' the shanty all day, an' at supper she done +nothin' but talk, talk, talk about that there pianner. + +"'Don't be so awful gay, Miss. Hemenway,' says I, for I was afeard she +might be disapp'inted. 'Yeh ain't got it yet. Yeh know, Mr. Sneath's a' +awful busy man, an' he may fergit it.' + +"'Oh, he won't fergit! Jud'll poke him up on it,' says she. 'An' I think +I'll have it put right over there in that corner. No, that's on the +flume side, an' it might draw dampness there. Over there by the winder's +the place, an' plenty o' light, too. Wonder if they'll think to send +down a stool.' + +"I had to skin up to Skyland nex' day. Jud says the soop'rintendent has +to light out quicker'n he'd thought, but he didn't fergit about the +pianner. Mis' Sneath was as easy as greased skids, but Mr. Sneath he +didn't know exactly. He sends the pianner over to the warehouse there +'longside the flume an' has the men slap together a stout boat to run +her down in; but at the las' minute he backs out. He was a-lookin' at +the pianner standin' there in the warehouse, an' he says to Jud, says +he: + +"'That there pianner has be'n in our family ever sence we was married. +Marthy allus sot a heap o' store by that pianner. It was my first +present to her, an' I know she thinks a hull lot of it, even if she +don't seem ter keer. Trouble is, she don't know what sendin' it down the +flume means. Yeh see, it ain't like a long string o' lumber--weight's +all in one place, an' she might break through. This flume ain't what it +was thirteen years ago, yeh know.' + +"Jud he argies with him, 'cos he knows Jess's heart'll be broke if she +don't git the pianner; an' after a while he thinks he's got it all +fixed; but jest afore Sneath an' his wife takes the stage he telaphones +down to the warehouse to let the pianner stay there till he comes back. +Then he goes away, an' Jud is as down in the mouth as if he'd run his +fist ag'in' a band-saw. He mopes aroun' all day, an' he's afeard to +tell Jess; but as I was a-goin' back to Five that night, he tells me to +break it to her gentle-like an' say he'd done his best. Which I did. +Wal, that gal jest howls when I tells her, an' sobs an' sobs an' takes +on like a baby coyote with the croup. But her dad he quiets her at last. + +"Jud he hardly dasts to show up on Sunday, but when he does, she won't +look at him fer quite a while. Then some o' that strawbary-blonde in her +comes out in some o' the dernedest scoldin' yeh ever heer'd. + +"'It's too bad, Jessie,' says he, 'but it ain't my fault. I done my +best. He backed out at the las' minute; he backed out, an' I couldn't do +no more than if a tree dropped on me. He backed out.' + +"After a while he takes her off up the flume a piece, an' they stays +there a long time, but she don't seem satisfied much when she comes +back. There is hell a-poppin' there for about three days over that there +pianner, an' the ol' man he gits so sick of it he gives her warnin' +he'll light out if she don't quit. Wal, she quiets down some after that, +but she makes Jud as mis'able as a treed coon fer over a week. She keeps +a-tryin' an' a-tryin' to git him to send the pianner down anyway. She +tells him she'll send it back afore the Sneaths gits home. + +"'He told me I could have it; he promised me,' says she, 'he promised +me, an' I'll never marry you unless you send it down. You can do it; +you're goin' to be boss, an' you know it will be all right. I'll see +that they ain't a scratch on it; an' you can put it in the warehouse, +an' they'll never know it's be'n away.' + +"An' so she keeps a-teasin' an' a-teasin', till finally Jud he gits +desperate. + +"'Oram,' says he to me one day, 'Oram, you're an ol' flume man. What do +you think o' runnin' that pianner down to Five?' + +"I shakes my head. I likes the boy, an' I don't want ter see him take +sech big chances o' gittin' inter trouble. Somebody might tell Sneath, +an' then it might be all off about his bein' flume boss. Besides, nobody +had never run no pianner down no flume before, an' yeh couldn't tell +what might happen. + +"'D' yeh think, honest, Oram,' says he, 'the ol' flume's likely ter give +way anywheres?' + +"'No,' says I; 'she's strong as a railroad-track.' + +"'Wal, then,' says he, 'I'm a-goin' to do it. You come down Sunday an' +we'll take her out afore anybody's out o' the bunk-house.' + +"I tries to argy him out of it, but he won't listen. So Sunday, about +five in the mornin', I goes up to Skyland, an' we slides the big boat +inter the flume an' gits the pianner onto the rollers, an' 't ain't much +trouble to load her all right; fer, yer know, them big boats has flat +tops like decks, an' things sets up on top of 'em. But while we was +a-doin' that an' the boat is hitched tight to a stanchion 'longside o' +the flume, the water backs up behind so high that it looks as though the +pianner is a-goin' ter git wet. This skeers Jud, an' he seems to lose +his head someways. + +"'Hustle up, Oram!' says he, very nervous-like. 'The boat's crowdin' +down so it won't let any water past. Ontie that rope.' + +"I takes a good notice o' the pianner, an' I don't like her looks, +sittin' up there so high on that little deck. + +"'We oughter tie her on good an' tight,' says I. + +"She's a upright, yeh see, an' she's as top-heavy as a pile-driver. I +was afeard she'd strike a low limb or somethin' an' git smashed. So I +goes to settle her a bit an' lay her down on her back an' tie her on; +but he says he don't know about that layin'-down business, an' declares +she'll ride all right. He speaks pretty sharp, too. So I gits a little +huffy an' onties the rope, an' we starts. + +"Wal, she don't go very fast at first, 'cos she's heavy an' they ain't +none too much water in front; but after a while we comes to the Devil's +Slide,--you remember the place,--an' we scoots down there like the +mill-tails o' hell. + +"'Gee-whiz!' says Jud. 'She's a-rockin' like a teeter. I hope she'll +stay on all right.' He was settin' back with me, behind the pianner, an' +we both tries to holt on to her an' keep her stiddy, but we cain't do +much more'n set down an' cuss haff the time, we're so afeard we'll git +throwed out. Wal, after we come to the foot of the slide, we breathes +easy-like, an' Jud he says it's all right, for that there was the wust +place. For about three miles the pianner set on that boat as stiddy as a +church, an' from there on down to Four it was pretty good sailin'. Of +course we went a good deal faster in the steep places than any other +boat ever sent down the flume, because the heft o' the thing, when she +got started, was bound to make her fly, water or no water. In a good +many places we run ahead o' the stream, an' then in the quiet spots the +water would catch up to us an' back up behind us an' shove us along. + +"Between Four an' Five there's a place we used ter call Cape Horn. The +flume is bracketed onto a cliff, yeh know, fer about a mile, an' it's a +skeery place any way yeh shoot it; yeh scoot aroun' them there sharp +curves so lively, an' yeh look down there four or five hundred feet +inter the bottom o' the canon. That's where yeh shut yer eyes. Yeh +remember? Wal, when I sees Cape Horn ahead I gits a little skeer'd when +I thinks how she might rock. We run onto a place where I could look away +ahead, an' there, wavin' her apron or somethin', is a gal, an' I knows +it's Jess, out from Five to see the pianner come down. Jud he knows, +too, an' waves back. + +"We runs out onto the brackets, turns a sharp curve, an' she begins to +wabble an' stagger like a drunken man, floppin' back an' forth, an' the +strings an' things inside is a-hummin' an' a-drummin'. + +"'Slow her down!' yells Jud. 'Slow her down, or we'll never git past the +Horn!' + +"I claps on the brake, but she's so heavy she don't pay no 'tention to +it, though I makes smoke 'long them planks, I tell yer. She scoots ahead +faster'n ever, an' bows to the scenery, this way an' that, like she was +crazy, an' a-hummin' harder than ever. + +"'Slow her down! Ease her down!' hollers Jud, grittin' his teeth an' +holdin' onto her with all his hundred an' eighty pounds weight. But 't +ain't no good. I gits a holt oncet, but the water backs up behind us an' +we goes a-scootin' down on a big wave that sloshes out o' the flume on +both sides an' sends us flyin' toward that Horn fer further orders. + +"When we gits to the sharpest curve we knows we're there all right. She +wabbles on one side an' then on the other, so I can see chunks o' sky +ahead right under her. An' then, all of a sudden, she gives a whoopin' +big jump right off the top o' the boat, an' over the side o' the flume +she goes, her strings all a-singin' like mad, an' sailin' down four +hundred feet. Jud had a holt of her before she dropped, an' if I hadn't +'a' grabbed him he'd 'a' gone over, too. + +"You might not believe it, pardner, but we run a quarter of a mile down +that there flume before we hears her strike. Jeroosalem! What a crash! I +ever heer'd one o' them big redwoods that made half so much noise when +she dropped. How she did roar! An' I tell yeh what was strange about +that there noise: it seemed like all the music that everybody had ever +expected to play on that pianner for the nex' hundred years come +a-boomin' out all to oncet in one great big whoop-hurray that echered up +an' down that canon fer half an hour. + +"'We've lost somethin',' says I, cheerful-like, fer I thinks the' 's no +use cryin' over spilt pianners. + +"But Jud he never says nothin',--jest sets there like he was froze plumb +stiff an' couldn't stir a eyelid--sets there, starin' straight ahead +down the flume. Looks like his face is caught in the air and held that +way. + +"Of course, now our load's gone, the brake works all right, an' I hooks +a-holt onto the side about a hundred feet from where Jess stands like a +marble statute, lookin' down inter the gulch. + +"'Come on, Jud,' says I, layin' my hand onto his arm soft-like; 'we gits +out here.' + +"He don't say nothin', but tries to shake me off. I gits him out at +last, an' we goes over to where poor Jess stands, stiff an' starin' down +inter the gulch. When she hears our feet on the side planks, she starts +up an' begins to beller like a week-old calf; an' that fetches Jud outer +his trance for a while, an' he puts his arm aroun' her an' he helps her +back along the walk till we comes to a place where we gits down an' goes +over to view the wreck. + +"Great snakes, pardner, but it was a sight! The pianner had flew down +an' lit onto a big, flat rock, an' the' wasn't a piece of her left as +big as that there plate. There was all kinds o' wires a-wrigglin' aroun' +on the ground an' a-shinin' in the sun, an' the' was white keys an' +black keys an' the greatest lot o' them little woolly things that +strikes the strings all mixed up with little bits o' mahogany an' nuts +an' bolts an' little scraps o' red flannel an' leather, an' pegs an' +bits o' iron that didn't look as if it had ever been any part o' the +machine. It was the dernedest mess! I picked up somethin' Jess said was +a pedal,--a little piece o' shiny iron about as long as that,--'n' that +was the only thing that seemed to have any shape left to it. The litter +didn't make any pile at all--jest a lot o' siftin' sawdust-stuff +scattered aroun' on the rocks. + +"'She struck tol'able hard,' says I, lookin' at Jud. But he don't say +nothin'; jest stan's over there on the side o' the rock an' looks as if +he'd like to jump off another fifty feet the' was there. + +"'Don't take it like that, Jud,' says Jess, grabbin' holt o' him an' not +payin' any 'tention to my bein' there. 'Cry, cuss, swear--anything, but +don't be so solemn-like. It's my fault, Juddie dear--all my fault. Can +yeh ever, ever fergive me? Yeh said yeh didn't think it was safe, an' I +kep' a-goadin' yeh to it; an' now----' She broke out a-blubberin' an' +a-bellerin' again, an' he puts his arm aroun' her an' smiles, an' says +soft-like: + +"'It don't matter much. I can raise the money an' buy a new one fer Mis' +Sneath. How much do they cost?' says he. + +"'Oh, I dunno! Five hundred dollars, I think. It's an awful lot o' +money!' + +"'Wal, I got three-fifty saved up,--you know what fer,--an' I can raise +the rest an' put a new pianner in the place o' that one,' says he. + +"He looks at the wreck, an' fer the first time I sees his eyes is jest a +little damp. + +"They didn't either of 'em seem to take any notice o' me, an' I didn't +feel that I counted, nohow. + +"'An' we cain't git married,' says Jud, sorrowful-like, 'fer ever so +long. There'll be nothin' to house-keep on till I can save up some +more.' + +"'Yes, we can, too,' says she. 'I don't keer if yeh ain't got so much as +a piece o' bale-rope.' + +"'But yer paw?' + +"'I don't keer,' says she, very hard-like, a-stampin' her foot. 'He can +like it or lump it.' + +"Wal, I sneaks away an' leaves 'em there, an' by an' by they comes up to +where I sets on top o' the boat, an' Jud isn't so plumb gloomy as I +thinks he'd be. + +"Him an' her goes down ter Fresno nex' day an' buys one o' that same +identical make o' pianners an' has it shipped up on the first +freight-wagon to Skyland. An' they puts it inter the warehouse, an' +there she stands till Mr. Sneath comes home with his wife. + +"When Mis' Sneath she sees the pianner brung inter her house she don't +notice any difference fer a while; but one day she sets down ter play, +an' she pounds out a few music, an' then she gives a jump an' looks all +over the machine an' she says, 'Good Lord!' An' Sneath he comes in, an' +they has a great time over how the' 's be'n sech a change in that +pianner. She finally makes up her mind it's a bran'-new one, an' sends +fer Jud an' asts him what he knows about it. An' he cain't lie a little +bit, so he up an' tells her that her pianner is all inter sawdust an' +scrap-iron down on the rocks, an' that this is a new one that he owes a +hundred an' fifty dollars on down ter Fresno. + +"Then she busts out a-laughin', an' says: + +"'Why, that old tin-pan! I'm glad it flew the flume. It wasn't wuth +twenty dollars. I got a noo grand pianner on the way here that I ordered +in Noo York. I'll make this here one a weddin' present to you an' Jess.' + +"And the soop'rintendent he writes out his check an' sends it down to +Fresno to pay off the hundred an' fifty, an' when the weddin' it comes +off he gives 'em a set o' chiny dishes besides. + +"Jud's flume boss now, an' Jess she plays that pianner an' sings like a +bird. When we gits down ter Mill Flat I'll show yeh their house. It's a +white one up on the side o' the hill, jest across the gulch from the +mill. + +"Wal, yeh had all the grub yeh want, pardner? Say, ain't them green +gages sour? They sets yer teeth on aidge all right. An' I couldn't find +the boys' sugar-can. If yer full up, I guess we'd better git inter the +boat." + +I took my seat behind Oram and a particularly offensive pipe he had +just lighted. Looking down the long, swift-running, threatening flume, I +shuddered; for since Oram's recital the native hue of my resolution had +been "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." I remarked that if +he saw any of those Cape Horn curves ahead to let me know and I would +get out and walk. + +"Don't yeh be skeer'd by what I told yeh," said he. "Yeh got a pretty +fair-sized head, but yeh ain't quite so top-heavy as Mis' Sneath's big +upright. An', besides, the' ain't no more Cape Horn on this flume; they +calls that place Pianner P'int now." + + + + +THE CONTUMACY OF SARAH L. WALKER + +BY + +MIRIAM MICHELSON + +Reprinted from _Munsey's Magazine_ of April, 1904 by permission + + +"THE BOARD will now pass to consideration of the case of Mrs.--Mrs. +Walker." + +The president looked from the report in front of her to the +superintendent sitting opposite. + +The Rev. Alexander McCaleb rose slowly to his feet. + +"I regret exceedingly," he said, "to have to report this case to the +board. I need not say that if it had been possible to convince Mrs. +Walker of the error of her ways, no pains or time would have been +spared. But I have done all that I could. Mrs. Walker persists. +She--ah!--she flouts all authority, and--ah!--sets such an example of +rebellious conduct that I fear the discipline of the home may be gravely +compromised." + +The president knitted her pretty, dark brows. Her hair was white, with a +soft, youthful whiteness that haloed her head as if it was a joke of old +Time's. She was new to her office, and was conscious of a critical +atmosphere that subtly underlined the formality of the proceedings--an +official formality that made the meeting of the lady managers of this +Old People's Home a formidable affair. + +"I see no record of any case of disciplining heretofore," she said, +troubled. "There is no precedent by which the chair can be----" + +"But there are the by-laws," suggested the superintendent. He reached +over to his own desk, and read from a pamphlet that had lain open there: +"If any inmate of the home shall persistently and willfully disobey the +rules, the superintendent shall report such case to the board of +managers. If, after full and complete investigation, and a notice to +that effect having been duly served, said inmate shall continue to +persist in contumacy, the board is by a majority vote empowered to +expel." + +A little hush fell upon the assemblage at this invocation of its dread +powers. + +"It seems rather hard on the old bodies, doesn't it?" the president was +encouraged to remark. + +"But it is plainly stated in the by-laws," said the recording secretary, +a bright-eyed, business-like matron. + +"And dear Mr. McCaleb is so patient and tactful that it is seldom +necessary," remarked the single member of this week's visiting +committee. + +"I thank you, Mrs. Davis." The superintendent bowed in his stateliest +manner. "I do my best--I try always to do my best. Old people are +trying, we all know." + +The president looked up from her perusal of the by-laws. + +"Suppose we have the old lady in," she said. "Mr. McCaleb, will you send +for Mrs. Walker?" + +The old lady held her head haughtily as she walked into the handsomely +furnished office. The president, mindful of her official capacity, +looked severely upon Mrs. Walker--Sarah Lucinda Walker, according to the +cramped signature of the home's register, widow, native of Maine, aged +sixty-seven on her entrance into the home five years ago. And Mrs. +Walker--a miracle of aged neatness, trim, straight, little, in her +somber black and immaculate cap--looked severely back. + +"Be seated, Mrs. Walker," said the president. + +"Thank you." Mrs. Walker crossed with a formal "Good morning, ladies," +and took the chair indicated. + +"Now, Mr. McCaleb, if you please----" said the president. + +The superintendent rose. + +"Ladies," he began with a solemnity that made the offender quake within, +though outwardly she was calm as the president herself, "it is with +positive pain that I have to report to you the case of Mrs. Sarah +Lucinda Walker. It is now fully three months since I began to labor with +her--three months since I warned her of this very thing that has come to +pass, an investigation by your honorable board. On the 9th of +January"--he glanced methodically at a note-book--"I sent her a copy of +the by-laws, with the section referring to insubordination underscored +in red ink. On the 23d I made a personal call upon her, and sought to +convince her how impossible it was that such conduct could be tolerated. +On February 7th I publicly reprimanded her. On the 13th--five days +ago--I informed her that, after considering it prayerfully, I had laid +the matter before your honorable body, and that she should hold herself +in readiness to be summoned before you to meet the following charges: + +"First, insubordination; second, breaking Rule VIII of the house +regulations; third, taking food from the table; fourth, disturbing +neighbors in early morning; and fifth, defacing the building." + +Mr. McCaleb took his seat. The shocked gaze of the board bent itself +upon the criminal. The bad little old lady's far-sighted eyes swept +insolently past them all and met the president's--twenty years younger +than her own. + +"Do you like birds, ma'am?" she asked, herself in an eager, bird-like +way. And then, without waiting for an answer, she went on: "I love +'em--anything that's got wings. Old Cap'n Walker used to say, 'Sary +Lucindy, they was a moughty fine ornithologist spiled when God A'mighty +made you a woman 'stead of a man.' He was a free-spoken man, Cap'n +Walker, not so pious-mouthed as some, but he had charity in his soul, +which is more than some others has." + +She swept a superbly disdainful look toward the Rev. McCaleb. The +recording secretary tapped reprovingly with her pencil, but the +president only listened. + +"Now, ma'am, we ain't paupers, we old folks. Every one of us, as you +know, has paid our thousand dollars in. An' we ain't bad children as +needs disciplinin'; an' they's no use treatin' grandmothers an' +great-grandmothers as though they was. It's in me to love birds, an' no +'mount of rules and regulations is goin' to change me. My canary bird +died the same year Cap'n Walker saved every other soul on board his +ship and went down alone to the bottom with her. Since then I've sort o' +adopted the sparrers. Why, haven't I spent every afternoon through the +summer out in the park a-feedin' them my lunch? An' now that winter's +come, d'ye think I'd have the face to desert them? + +"'Not one of them is forgotten before God'--do you remember, ma'am? One +of 'em seemed to be in the early winter. It was before my rheumatism got +so bad. I was out in the park the afternoon the first snow fell, an' +this poor little crittur with a wing broke kep' a trailin' an' chirpin' +an' scuttlin' in front o' me. It'd fell out o' the nest; hardly covered +with feathers, it was. I picked it up an' carried it to my room in my +apron. Poor little mite--how it fluttered an' struggled! I kep' it +overnight in my spool-box. In the mornin' I fed it; by noon the sun come +out, an' I let it out on the window-sill, where I keep my house plants; +just a bit o' musk--the cap'n liked musk--an' a pot o' bergamot. Do you +know, ma'am, that little thing was that contented by the end of the week +that I could leave the windows open an' nary a wing's stroke away would +it go? That was in December, 'fore it got to be known that I kep' a bird +in my room. That mild spell we had 'fore Christmas it did fly away one +morning, but at sundown there it was back again; an' when it came on to +snow that night I felt same's I used to 'tween voyages, when I could +hear how the ocean'd get lashed to a fury, an' Cap'n Walker'd be fast +asleep safe beside me. + +"Of course it was a pity that when the bird came back it showed others +the way--but wasn't it cute of it, ma'am? An' wasn't it just like a lot +o' children hangin' 'round at maple-syrup time? They did make a clatter +an' a racket in the early mornin' when I wouldn't be up an' they'd be +ready for breakfast. But wasn't it for all the world like children with +empty little stummicks an' chatterin' tongues? When Mis' Pearson +complained of me an' the noise, I didn't take it kind of her. Take food +from the table? Course I did. But it was my own lunch, that I'd a right +to go hungry for ef I wanted to, an' nobody's affair. + +"But I tell you, ma'am, one day--it was that day Mr. McCaleb sent me +that printed notice, an' everybody on my floor see it comin' an' knew it +was something shameful an' legal--that evening I tried honestly to keep +'em out. I pulled down the shade--it was a bitter cold day, a regular +blizzard blowing--an' I sat with my back to the window an' tried to read +my Bible while them birds jest shrieked themselves hoarse outside. Well, +guess where that Bible opened to! 'Yea, the sparrow hath found a house +and the swallow a nest for herself where she may lay her young.' That +was a message, ma'am, a straight, sure message. I opened the window an' +scattered their bread-crumbs out on the sill, which I had made jest the +least bit wider for them--that's what he calls 'defacin' the buildin'.' +After that, I told Mr. McCaleb flat-footed that if he had the heart to +starve them innocent critturs in the dead o' winter, it was more than I +had. I told him if he'd wait till spring, I'd promise never to open the +window that faces south after that; but till they could shift for +themselves, I'd shift for them. That's all. Thank _you_, ma'am, for +letting me have my say." + +She smiled into the president's soft eyes, and rose, looking like a +trim, saucy, gray-haired sparrow about to take flight. The president's +smile started back to her, but on the way it had to pass the recording +secretary, the visiting committee, and the Rev. Alexander McCaleb. By +the time it had made the journey it was shorn of half its sympathetic +understanding. + +"You admit then, Mrs. Walker, that you have broken the rule against +having pets in the room?" the president asked with gravity. "It is a +necessary rule. Fancy what would be the condition of the place if a lady +in No. 117 had a tame sparrow, a gentleman in No. 120 a monkey, his +neighbor a spaniel, the lady across the way a cat, and so on! I +appreciate--we all do, and Mr. McCaleb more than all of us--how tender +and charitable a nature yours is, but"--she looked at the recording +secretary to gain courage--"but we simply must enforce the rules. I know +so good a housekeeper as you must have been will understand this, and +agree with me when I say that such a disciplinarian as Captain Walker no +doubt was--unfortunately, I never had the pleasure of his +acquaintance--would have been the first to counsel you to obey the +rules. Won't you think it over from our point of view, Mrs. Walker, when +you go back to your room? Do! Good afternoon." + +It was a very dejected Sarah Lucinda Walker that returned to her room. +Her depression was noted and audibly commented upon by Mrs. Pearson, her +next-door neighbor and arch-enemy. In fact, the whole corridor was alive +with the news of her defeat. At the lunch-table it was the sole topic +of conversation, and in the library old Colonel Rockwell--in the pauses +of a quavering rendition of "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep"--bet Mr. +Patterson three of the cigars his nephew always sent him on Fridays that +Mrs. Walker, being a woman of spirit, would not yield even though the +ultimatum were expulsion. + +Mrs. Walker heard of the wager, of course, that afternoon. They were a +hundred or more antiquated and unseaworthy vessels, all anchored in a +semi-genteel haven; and from morning till night, till sun should cease +for them to shine and water to flow they had nothing to do but to listen +to the whispering tide that told of the great ocean of life beyond, or +to gossip among themselves of their own voyages dead and done. + +The incorrigible Mrs. Walker's spotless little room, with its bag of +dried crusts on the window-sill, saved for her pet, became the storm +center that afternoon. Every old lady who could possibly claim +acquaintance called to inquire her intentions; every old gentleman +leaned hard upon his cane as he lifted his hat to her in the halls with +the deference due a gallant rebel. They loved a rebel, these old +children, at the end of their lives fallen again into the domain of "you +must" and "you must not." + +Sarah Lucinda Walker's world rocked beneath her. She intended, she +believed, to obey the rules, to cast off the one creature on earth to +which she could still play Lady Bountiful; to shut her hospitable window +and her loving old heart on all these fluttering, visiting strangers who +had heard of her generosity, and with every hour carried the news of it +further. + +She intended all this, but when the time came she did simply as old +Colonel Rockwell had wagered she would. She opened wide her windows and +fed the hungry throng that whirred about her, scattering crumbs and +floating feathers over the immaculate marble of Mr. McCaleb's front +door-step. + +A knock at the door brought her to her senses. She put a withered little +old hand, very like a sparrow's claw, upon the window-sash to shut it +hastily, and then, too proud to deceive, turned boldly to meet her fate. + +Mrs. Pearson, on the lookout at her half-open door saw the +official-looking document handed to her. + +"It's her notice to leave," she said in an awed whisper to herself. + +In the face of so great a calamity she felt, not triumph, but a shocked +sense of loss, of self-reproach. Five minutes after she was in her +enemy's room. + +"You mustn't--you mustn't cry, dear Mrs. Walker," she sobbed, putting +her arms about the slender old shoulders. + +"Am I crying?" the little old lady answered. "I can't help it--I'm so +happy!" + +"Happy!" Mrs. Pearson's dazed old eyes turned bewildered from the +envelope with the home's letterhead on it to the bird-like creature in +her arms. "And you've got your notice to leave?" + +"Did you think it was that? So did I for a minute, an' it 'most killed +me. But I opened it, an' found a note from the president--that dear, +dear president! She wants to know if I'll take care of her summer +cottage till the spring comes. An', Marthy Pearson, they's chickens up +there--fancy breeds--a whole yard of 'em--an' I'm to have the feedin' of +'em. Ain't it enough to make a body cry for joy? Say, Marthy, would +you--would you mind feedin' the sparrers?--only on the very stormiest +days--McCaleb would never suspect you, an' spring's near!" + + + + +BREAKING THROUGH + +BY + +W. C. MORROW + +Reprinted from _Success Magazine_ of September, 1906 by permission + + +"RAY," SAID his mother, whom he shyly and secretly worshipped, without +her ever suspecting the least of it beneath his cautious reserve and +occasional outbursts of temper, "my son, I hope you will remember, +tonight. You are nearly a man." + +She was a wise woman, and said it kindly and meant it well; but his face +flamed, his eyes hardened, and he sullenly walked away. Mrs. Gilbert +sighed, and went about the preparations for the young people's party +which her daughters, aged sixteen and eighteen, were to give that +evening. She could not foresee what her son would do. Would her gentle +warning, filled with the tender pride of a mother's love for her one +man-child, drive him with his dog to the woods, whither many a time +before this day a word less pointed had sent him, there to live for a +week or longer at a time, in a manner that he had never disclosed?--or +would the disjointed thing within him which harried his somber, lonely +life force him in a blind moment to make a disgraceful scene at the +gathering? She prayed that neither would happen, and that the sunshine +fighting for egress through his darkness would come forth soft and +genial and very fine and sweet, as it did sometimes, and always +unaccountably.... + +The worst had happened at the party. No doubt it was intolerable,--but +not so bad as when (he was then only four) he had tried to kill a boy +for lying about him and was whipped mercilessly by his father,--for +here, in the library, he was sitting before Mr. Gilbert, who was pale +and whose eyes had a deep, inscrutable look. He was a large and powerful +man, and had a genial nature, with force and sternness. The lad had +never seen him looking thus, and so evidently guarding a prisoner, and +the boy felt a strange weight within. + +Whatever had happened must have left a shadow on the assemblage, for, +though faint sounds came through the closed doors, they were somewhat +lacking in the robustness of youth. Ray did not deign an effort to +remember. More than that, he hoped that it never would come back, for it +might be disturbing to his solitudes. Of his attempts to remember the +attack on the boy ten years ago, there had never come any result but the +recollection of a wholly disconnected event,--when he was enveloped in a +swirl of flame and smoke from a fierce grass fire, and had to fight his +way through to life. He did not try to think what his father's purpose +was in holding him a prisoner tonight. Was it to give him a lecture? +Pshaw! The beautiful, peaceful woods would make him forget that +child's-play, and he would steal away to them with Cap this very night, +as soon as all were asleep. + +Thus, motionless and in silence, sat he and his father, seemingly +through an endless, aching time. After a while the guests quietly left. +His sisters omitted their customary good night to their father. All +sounds from the servants ended. Then entered his mother, uncommonly +pale, and in silence looked from her son to her husband. She was small +and dainty, and very, very pretty, the boy reflected. It was a pity that +her bright eyes should be dim tonight and her sweet mouth drawn. She +looked worn and as though she dreaded something. + +"Are you ready?" Mr. Gilbert asked, regarding her fixedly. + +Her lip trembled, but there came a flash from her eyes. "Do you really +mean it?" she asked. + +"Certainly. It must be done." + +"My dear, dear, he's too large for----" + +"He'll never be too large for it so long as he is a boor and coward, +insults our guests, scandalizes us all, shames his sisters, and treats +his parents with open scorn. He won't try to be like other people and +accept his world as he finds it. His inordinate conceit is a disease. It +is eating up his own life and making our lives miserable. We will cure +it." + +He had spoken calmly, but with a low vibration of tone; and as he came +to his feet he looked very tall and terrible. Ray's blood began to rise, +and as he looked about for something undefined he felt the heat and +smelled the smoke of the grass fire of ten years ago. + +He knew he was a coward. That was the shame and the curse of his life. +He did not think it had always been so, but believed it had come about +gradually. At first he had not minded the whippings that other boys gave +him because of his temper and his physical inadequacy, for he had +invited the punishment; but when they all learned that his fighting +spirit had weakened, that they could whip him easily, that they need not +wait for provocation, and that he would never tell, they bullied and +hounded and beat him until he had come to know a craven, sordid fear, +which spread from the boys to the whole terrible world in which the +masculine entity must fight for a place. + +"I am ready," said Mrs. Gilbert, trying to hide a sigh. + +"Come," Mr. Gilbert ordered the boy, looking at him for the first time +in two hours. + +The boy quailed before that look, the most dreadful thing he had ever +seen. It made him numb and sick, and when he rose he staggered; for, +though tall, he was slender and had little strength. The weight on his +chest became a pain and fixed on his throat, to choke and torment him. + +His mother had gone out. He followed his father, and the three went out +into the back yard, the boy bare-headed. The night was sharp and the +moon very bright. All the boy's power of thought was suspended. + +In silence they walked down the terraces of the park-like yard in the +rear. Cap, Ray's dog, his only intimate, came bounding forward for his +young master's unfailing good night, but Mr. Gilbert angrily ordered him +away. The animal, astonished and hurt, slunk away, keeping a watchful +view of the group, and sat down at a distance and gazed in wonder. They +passed through a gate into an orchard, and shut the dog out. + +Mr. Gilbert selected an apple tree, because the wood was tougher than +that of a peach. From it he cut two switches a yard long, and carefully +pared the knots, his wife observing without a word or a movement, and +the boy looking away into the distance. When Mr. Gilbert had done, he +ordered his son to prepare. + +The lad numbly, dumbly removed his coat and waistcoat, slipped his +suspenders down, tightened the strap at the back of his trousers, +clasped his hands in front, and bowed his head. The dog, which had crept +to the fence and was peering through the pickets, whined anxiously and +was quivering. When roughly ordered away by Mr. Gilbert, he went upon a +terrace that overlooked the fence, and trembled as he watched. The boy +did not once look toward him. He was struggling with the pain in his +throat. + +Mr. Gilbert offered one of the switches to his wife. + +"Oh, how can you!" she pleaded. + +"You must," he firmly said. "I'll relieve you when you are tired." + +The boy's mind suddenly cleared, and he comprehended. A whipping from +his father would be frightful enough,--not for the blows; they were +nothing. The plan was not alone to humiliate him beyond all measure, but +to scourge his soul, ravage the sanctuary of his mother there, rend him +asunder, and cast him into an unthinkable hell of isolation; for she was +the bond that held him to the world, she was the human comfort and +sweetness of his life. + +Since his tenth year his discipline had been solely in her hands, his +father having given him up as worthless, hopeless. She had whipped him +many a time, but not for two years; and he had felt no pain, no shame, +no outrage, no resentment. The case of the teacher was different. Ray +had solemnly sworn, renewing the oath every day, that when he came to +manhood he would beat his teacher to death for whipping him so often and +severely because of his dulness, his apathy, or his rebellion; the +whippings from his mother had only increased his tenderness for her, +and, in some way that he could not understand, his pity also. Perhaps it +was because he vaguely felt that she was impairing something in herself +that was precious to him. Never had she conquered him; never had he +cried out in pain, never pleaded for mercy, never confessed penitence +nor promised reform. + +Mrs. Gilbert shut her teeth hard, and, deathly white in the moonlight, +raised the switch. It was poised a moment, and then her arm fell limp to +her side; but the look that her son had seen in his father's eyes held +her and steeled her with a sort of desperate madness, and her arm again +rose. + +A long cry, an anguished wail, almost superhuman in its power to shatter +the silence of the night, and more startling than any human cry could +be, struck disorganizingly through the drama. It may have hastened the +catastrophe. Mr. Gilbert was unnerved for a moment, and in exasperation +picked up a clod and threw it at the offending dog trembling on the +terrace. When he turned again, his son was kneeling beside his +unconscious mother, peering anxiously into her pallid face, and calling +her softly. + +In a stride Mr. Gilbert was upon him. A hand armed with strength and +fury caught up the shirt on the lad's shoulder, raised him, and flung +him away with so great violence that the slender body struck the ground +as a log. Mr. Gilbert tenderly picked up his wife and bore her into the +house. + +The fall had half stunned the boy. As he slowly struggled to a sitting +posture the moon danced fantastically, and some black trees crowning a +near hill bowed and rose, and walked sidewise to and fro. A whine, low, +cautious, packed with sympathy and solicitude, pleaded at the pickets, +but the boy gave it no attention. He sat for a time, rose giddily, +swayed as he dressed himself, and with deliberation walked to the gate. +The dog, whining, trembling, crawled to meet him; but the boy, instead +of caressing him, ordered him quietly but firmly to the kennel. +Obedience was slow, and the animal looked up incredulous, wondering. The +order had to be repeated. Finally the dog obeyed, frequently pausing to +look back, but his master stood inflexible. + +Passing round the house, and without thinking or caring about hat and +overcoat, he noiselessly passed out the front gate, for a moment studied +the big house that had cradled him, bred much of his anguish, and held +all of his love, and firmly stepped out into the road. There was a +gnawing ache somewhere. Assuredly that one blow,--and from _her_,--could +not have caused it. After finding it in his throat, he was much +relieved, and struck out on secure legs. + +It did not occur to him that he was an outlaw and outcast. He did not +think at all. Hence there was no plan in his going. He did not even +understand that something deeper within him than had ever operated +before had assumed, in the disqualification of his ordinary ruling +powers, an imperious regency, and that it was infinitely greater or +infinitely less than his usual intelligence. He simply went on, thinking +nothing, remembering nothing. The beautiful highway, arched by great +trees, above which rode the moon in keeping pace with him, was a tunnel +under a luminous sea; he half walked, half floated, in the crystal +water, and had no wonder that he breathed it. The houses along the way +were the palaces of lordly gnomes that inhabited the deep. + +Whatever was leading him turned him out of the avenue at last and +drifted him along a winding road that was as beautiful in its less +conventional way. He did not reflect that all of this was familiar, +shamefully familiar. It was the road to his grandmother's but he had not +visited her for a year. + +Her great wisdom and tact had gone to a study of the strange, unhappy +child; she had been kind to him in every cautious, delicate fashion that +she could devise; but he had ceased coming, and avoided her when she +visited his home, and she had never known why. She was a patient woman +and good; she knew prayer, and in her peaceful twilight she walked with +God; yet no revelation had come at her appeals, for the times were not +ready; and the boy went his way alone and silent, forever alone and +silent, and unhappy, unhappy! + +A white picket fence was presently marching with him alongside the +shining road. He did not consciously recognize it, and it brought no +rekindling of an old terror, an old shame; but soon, on the other side +of it, a distance away, there broke on the stillness a challenge that he +remembered, and its tone was contempt. He understood it, and woke with +a start because of a sudden fluff of flame and a whiff of smoke from the +grass fire of ten years ago, and the ache in his throat gave him a +strangling wrench. His head rolled; the moon swung through an arc of +alarming length. That call beyond the fence struck the dominant note of +his life, and it was Fear. Yet it came from a mere animal,--his +grandmother's old buckskin horse, the most docile of creatures. + +Ray had never feared the wild things of the woods. The cry of the +panther in the dead of night is dreadful but it had no terrors for the +boy in the forest solitude. Other fierce pad-footed members of the cat +tribe had come and sniffed him as he lay under the stars, and experience +had taught him to feign sleep, for a suspicion of his wakefulness would +send them bounding away, and he was lonely, always lonely. One night, +roused from slumber, he sleepily put his hand on the shaggy head of a +bear that was curiously rummaging him, and he was sorry that the beast +took alarm and trotted away,--he would have been comfortable to hug. +That was before the dog had come into his life. He could never +understand why he was not afraid of anything whatever--not even of the +terrific lightning and thunder that sometimes flamed and crashed and +bellowed all about him,--except human beings and the forces that they +controlled; and at times he wondered why Cap loved him and the buckskin +horse would kill him from hate if he could. + +Here, then, beyond the picket fence, was the proclamation of his +shame,--coming from a gentle, superannuated horse with no more spirit +than a snail's. By some means, perhaps instinctive,--for all the world, +when it finds out, will hunt down and destroy whatsoever fears it +(although the boy had not reasoned it out thus),--the beast had learned +that the boy was afraid, and had then found an interest in life. Let him +but have a glimpse of Ray, and, ears back, lips drawn from hideous +yellow teeth, and head thrust horribly forward, he would snort, +charge,--and the boy would run abjectly. The horse had never thus +treated another living thing. So the boy had stayed away from his +grandmother's, and she had never suspected, and her love and prayers had +brought no revelation. + +As the fence intervened, the horse knew that a charge would be useless; +but when, with a neat leap the boy nimbly caught his feet on the ground +within the pasture, the buckskin advanced in his minatory way. Ray did +not know why he had leaped the fence, unless the wrench in his throat +had hurled him over or the flame and smoke of the grass fire had driven +him; nor did he know why he went steadily to meet the horse, nor why his +nostrils stretched and his arms strained and his hands clenched, nor why +there was a fierce eagerness in him; a rasping thirst for something +dried his tongue. The horse came on, and the boy, perfectly calm, as +fatally went to meet him. There was no calculation of results, yet the +lad knew that a horse's teeth and hoofs may be deadly. He knew only that +he was not going forward to end all his wretchedness, as, last year, the +shoemaker who drank had done with a shotgun, and young Corson, the +thieving clerk, with poison. It occurred to the boy that he cared +nothing about the teeth and hoofs of any horse, and nothing about what +they might do. + +So ridiculous was the _fiasco_ that he would have laughed had he not +been sorry for the beast; for to see any rampant thing so suddenly +stricken with fear, when there was not the least danger nor any intent +of harm, was pitiful to see. He wished to assure the buckskin that he +was only a boy, a frail boy at that, and not what the animal had +apparently taken him to be,--a spawn of Darkness and Terror. He followed +up the trembling beast, trying to reassure him and to get near and pet +him; but the creature fled wildly at every advance, and when not pursued +stood with head aloft, ears cocked, and nostrils vibrant, quivering in +fear. + +Seeing the uselessness of further pacific effort, the boy sprang over +the fence, went back to the main highway, and by the unseen Hand was led +into the short cut past Mr. Elderby's house, where the greatest terror +of his life--human excepted--had months ago driven him to use the long +way round. He did not know, nor for a moment consider, why he chose the +short cut tonight. He turned into it, walking free and strong. + +Girls had meant nothing in the boy's life. That was because they did not +seem members of his species, but something fragile, mysterious, and +ranking somewhere between flowers and angels. Thus his feeling for them +was composed of a little awe, more reverence, and a sense of great +remoteness. Never had he observed them thoughtfully without reflecting +that they were, in a general way, much like his mother, or at least of +her species; therefore they must be sweet and dainty and gentle and +kind. His only large swellings of the heart had come from his thinking +about them, particularly Grace Elderby, now twelve years old. Nothing +could have been so grand, for instance, as an opportunity to rescue her +single-handed, from wild savages that had her tied to a tree and were +piling fagots about her; then to dance in fiendish glee about her as the +flames rose. He would dash up on a splendid charger, his sword flashing +in the sun; savage heads would roll in the dust, or fall open, cleaved +in twain; there would be wild yells of fright and a wilder flight for +life; he would leap from his horse, speak reassuring words while he +severed her bonds, mount with her in his arms, and fly away, away, away. + +Twice had Grace seen his shame. She had seen him pale, and run when her +father's big, noisy dog had made a flamboyant show of rage, and she had +seen him stand mute and white when Andy Carmichael, older and larger and +much stronger than Ray, grossly insulted him in her presence. The +Elderby dog was the terror that had closed the short cut,--closed it to +Ray alone. + +Thus into the short cut swung Ray, walking strong and free, the ache in +his throat not so painful as before. The dog would be on guard, and the +boy was empty-handed. + +The shadows were deep under the trees, or possibly the dog's hate and +rage blinded him to what the buckskin had seen, or perhaps he was of a +different metal. Near the rear of the premises the big brute came in so +great a fury that he broke through the palings. The ensuing +collision,--for the boy stood his ground,--was so violent that Ray went +down underneath, and an ecstasy thrilled him when the flame swished and +the smoke stung, and he felt something sink into his shoulder and a +stifle of hot, foamy breath in his face. + +It seemed to have been easily and quickly done. True, when he came erect +he was weak and tired, and swayed dizzily, and wondered why. As, without +the least exultation, or even triumph, or even gratification, he looked +down at his work, and saw with surprise how deeply the ground had been +torn up, two men with sticks came running out,--evidently there had been +some noise, despite all his care for silence. One was Mr. Elderby, the +other his coachman. The gentleman stood in astonishment as the boy, +controlling his heavy breathing, stepped into the moonlight and calmly +faced him. + +"Ray Gilbert! What are you doing here, at this time of night?" + +"I was walking in the path. Your dog attacked me." + +"What did you kill him with?" + +"My hands." + +Mr. Elderby stood in wonder as he studied the lad. + +"I'm thankful to God that you are alive. It's a miracle." He noticed +that Ray's clothing was torn nearly to rags. In compassion he laid a +hand on Ray's shoulder, quickly withdrew it, and examined it in the +moonlight. "You are hurt, my son. Come into the house. I'll put you to +bed and send for the doctor and your parents." + +"Thank you, sir; I have something to do." + +"But you must have attention.--Jake, hitch up the bay to the light +buggy,--quick,--and drive him home." + +"No, sir; but I'm much obliged. I have something to do. Good night." The +shadows enveloped him. + +The short cut led him over a sharp hill and into the road again, and +there he sat on the bank till his strength came back. Then he went on +till he arrived at a gate leading into a private avenue. The ache in his +throat was nearly gone. Passing quietly up the driveway and round to the +rear of the house, he came to a window, which was open at the top, and +sharply tapped on the glass. + +"Who's that?" came a voice. + +"Dress and come out, Andy Carmichael. I'm Ray Gilbert." + +The sash was thrown up and the boy glowered in the opening. "Ray +Gilbert!--you cowardly, sneaking puppy! What do you want?" + +"I want to see you. Dress and come out. Don't wake anybody." + +He spoke quietly, trying to appear his usual self lest this monster, +this overshadowing terror of his life, should see whatever it was that +had frightened the horse and slain the dog. This was the boy who had +beaten him so often and with such merciless, sodden, gluttonous +enjoyment; the boy who, when he did not care to give the beatings +himself--no provocation was ever needed,--would stand threateningly by +and let the smaller boys, even to the little ones with soft, puny fists, +beat the coward as long as they wished, merely for the love of beating +what did not resist; the boy whose lies had brought undeserved whippings +from the teacher; the boy who openly insulted him whenever he pleased, +and, worst of all, had humiliated him before Grace Elderby. It was the +presence of this boy at the party that evening, and the looks that he +gave Ray, and the sly tortures he inflicted, that had sent up the +curtain on the night's drama. + +In wondering surprise Andy studied the bare-headed, ragged, dirty figure +standing in the moonlight; and as crimson looks a muddy brown in such a +light, he mistook the smears on the other's face and the dark splotches +on his clothing. What could the creature want of him at this time of +night and with that extraordinary appearance? Likely Ray had been set +upon and was seeking any refuge. It would be joyous to complete the work +that the others had begun. Andy soon emerged from the house. + +"Come this way," said his mysterious visitant, and perplexed Andy +followed him to the rear of the fowl-house, where the light was clear. +The flame and smoke of the old grass fire were strong in the air. + +Ray halted, and faced him. + +"Take off your coat," he quietly said, removing his own tattered +garment. + +"What for?" with a slight quaver composed of anger--and something else; +for there was a touch of the uncanny here. + +"We are going to fight." + +"Fight, eh! What put that into your fool head?" Under the initial +impulse from the challenge, Andy was all heat and eagerness, and he +bristled and swelled; but though, in some vital ways, human sense is +less acute than brute sense, Andy did feel something of what the +buckskin had felt, something of what had slain the dog, and his heart +thumped with a strange heaviness. "What do you want to fight for? I'd +beat the life out of you." + +It failed of the effect intended, and Andy found his head suddenly +twisted to one side by a slap on the cheek. He stepped back, white with +fury, tossed his coat aside, and hurled himself upon the slender figure +waiting with such unearthly composure. + + * * * * * + +Dawn was flooding the east, and still the boy lurched and floundered on +and on, keeping to the road that led into the wilderness. Occasionally +he would stop for a minute's rest and to listen for the baying of +Frazier's bloodhound; and he wondered, in a purely detached and +scientific way, whether he had sufficient strength and acuteness left +for another such grapple. It was merely an engaging speculation, and was +complicated with his determination to perform another task before his +work was done. It would nearly break his heart to be stopped now. Likely +the dog would not attack him, but merely hold him at bay until the +pursuers came to his summons; but if the dog would not attack, then the +boy must. Would strength or even life be left for the last and most +important of all the tasks to which the Hand was leading him?--for there +was a good distance yet to be covered, and work to be done at the end of +it. He was thankful that the ache had entirely left his throat and that +a strange warmth had kindled in his breast. + +[Illustration: "DAWN WAS FLOODING THE EAST, AND STILL THE BOY LURCHED AND +FLOUNDERED ON AND ON." FROM A PAINTING BY GORDON ROSS] + +Perhaps they had not really meant what they said about setting Frazier's +bloodhound to run him down. The remark had come from the yardman, not +Mr. +Carmichael himself, who had appeared too stunned to think of anything +but his son. If they had wished to kill the outlaw, or take him and send +him to jail, why had they not seized and bound him instead of staring at +him so queerly, and then the yardman foolishly saying, as Ray staggered +away and they picked up the limp figure, that they would get Frazier's +bloodhound and set him on the trail? They were two strong men against a +mere boy, who was so exhausted that only with a mighty effort could he +stand. It was Andy's final despairing cry that had waked them. + +Without either triumph or regret the boy struggled on. The broadening of +day made him partly aware of the savage presence that he made and of the +likelihood that traffic might open on the road at any time. Some of his +clothing was gone, and he had bound the remaining strips and rags about +him as best he could. He did not know about the aspect of his face and +hair, but he realized that should any one encounter him in the road he +might be forced to do something distasteful, and that the urgent task +ahead might be interrupted. + +A horseman and two market wagons passed at intervals, but the boy was +hidden at the roadside. So he reeled on and on, and so he came at last +to the great pine. There he turned out and crawled as much as walked +through the trees and undergrowth to the summit of a low ridge, where he +felt the sunshine fall on his half-naked back. It was so luxurious that +he paused in the full glare of it, and slowly turned, as one very cold +before a warming fire, and reveled in it. With every moment he felt it +pouring into him, tingling softly as it ran. It was odd with what +cheerful industry it hunted out the coldest places in him and kindled +snug little fires under them. Most of all, it gave attention to the warm +place that had already started in the center, and that one woke to a +wonderful glow. Thus refreshed, he descended the slope on the farther +side and came to a morass threaded by a friendly stream. At the edge of +the bog he halted and looked keenly about. It had been two years since +his last visit to this spot, and, though his memory of the woods was +excellent, he now found himself dull and his vision bad. Ordinarily he +would have found at once what he was seeking. Up and down along the +margin he stumbled, straining his dim eyes, crawling sometimes and using +groping hands in the search. Surely no one else could have come upon +this remote spot, found the treasure, and taken it away! + +At last! It had seemed to him a very long time; but all else was +submerged in the joy of the first triumph, the first elation, that the +lad had felt in many, many a day. Every shadow that had lain on his +conscience vanished, every shame that had cursed his years was swept +away, all bitterness took flight, and something fine and sweet raced +through him deliciously. + +There was no waste of precious time in hunting for something with which +to dig. Then, too, the glorious sun had mounted, and was pouring its +flood of light and warmth on his work and him. Like the tines of a +digging-fork, his fingers sank into the ground. + +The precious treasure, hugged gently, reverently, with a fierce sense of +protection, was balm to every hurt. With it thus clasped, the boy +laboriously made the ascent of the ridge on his return, and paused on +the summit. There was something strange in the distance with which the +descending slope to the road stretched so far, so bewilderingly far. He +contemplated it, and wondered if he could compass it in a lifetime. The +impulse to go on--for this last task was only half done--overcame the +check from the illusion, and he started down. His knees developed a +foolish way of suddenly flexing and seating him hard on the ground. At +first it was annoying, but when it happened the second time the +absurdity of it, and the ridiculous suddenness of the surprise that it +caused, made the boy laugh aloud. It astonished him to hear himself +laugh, for that was very unusual, and he wondered. But he rose, +staggered on, and found himself chuckling inside,--a most astonishing +thing! He could not imagine why he was doing it. When he dropped the +third time his voice rang in so loud and merry a laugh that two blue +jays came and scolded him terrifically, and he laughed at them till his +tears ran. He was so absurdly happy that he feared he would hug his +treasure too hard. + +If only his mother were with him, that she might see how funny it all +was, and laugh and be happy with him, and then walk with him hand in +hand through the beautiful woods, while he showed her all the wonderful +things that he knew! But no; his sisters and his father must be with +them,--and Grace, and Andy, too, and the teacher and dear old +grandmother. What a glorious time they would have! + +The boy started, for a sweet, coaxing smother had suddenly fallen on +him. He fought it away and rose with great difficulty and in some alarm +lest he should not reach the road. On he lurched, clinging to the bushes +as he swayed, trying not to laugh, for he had an idea that he was very +crass and silly. He saw the road, only a rod away, and suddenly +reflected that he was not presentable. Though staying till night would +delay the completion of his task, there was no help for it, and he was +content, and laughed because he was. And he knew that he really needed +rest; for suppose his legs should practise those grotesque +eccentricities in the road, and somebody should see! He sat down, +carefully guarding his treasure, to wait in happy patience. He would not +sleep, and so lose something of his conscious peace, something of +thinking about what was going to happen at the end. No, he _must_ not +sleep. + +The frantically joyous barking of a dog standing over him--not at all +like the deep baying of Frazier's bloodhound,--woke the boy, and he +tried to raise his head, but it fell back like lead. He laughed drowsily +in quiet happiness, as he feebly patted the devoted head. + +"Dear old Cap," he said. "You came, didn't you?" + +Messengers from Elderby's and Carmichael's had brought strange news to +the boy's parents. In alarm they had started out in the surrey, taking +Cap, in the sure faith that he would find their son. They had seen that +Andy was recovering,--he had been much more frightened than hurt. It was +they whose crashing through the bushes the boy heard after Cap had +announced his find. They halted and paled when they saw the torn, +bruised, helpless figure smiling at them from the ground, and so full +of loving gladness merely to see them that there was no room for +surprise at their being there. The mother was quicker than the father; +she ran forward and fell on her knees beside her son. + +"My boy!" she cried in a choke. + +He took her hand and smiled into her face. In all her life she had never +seen a smile so sweet, so happy. With his free hand he lifted his +treasure. + +"Mother," radiantly, "here it is!" + +"What, my poor dear?" + +"Don't you remember? I told you two years ago that I'd found it, and you +said you'd be very glad if I'd bring it to you when I came this way +again." + +She opened the parcel, wrapped with so fond care in leaves and damp +moss. + +"Why, it's the rare and beautiful fern, and you were taking it to me! +Bless your dear heart!" and, much to his surprise, she began to cry. + + + + +A LOST STORY + +BY + +FRANK NORRIS + +Reprinted from _The Century Magazine_ of July, 1903 by permission + + +AT NINE o'clock that morning Rosella arrived in her little office on the +third floor of the great publishing house of Conant & Company, and +putting up her veil without removing her hat, addressed herself to her +day's work. + +She went through her meager and unimportant mail, wrote a few replies, +and then turned to the pile of volunteer manuscripts which it was her +duty to read and report upon. + +For Rosella was Conant's "reader," and so well was she acquainted with +the needs of the house, so thorough was she in her work, and so great +was the reliance upon her judgment, that she was the only one employed. +Manuscripts that she "passed up" went direct to Conant himself, while +the great army of the "declined" had no second chance. For the +"unavailables" her word was final. + +From the first--which was when her initial literary venture, a little +book of short tales of Sicily and the Sicilians, was published by the +house--her relations with the Conants had been intimate. Conant believed +in her, and for the sake of the time when her books could be considered +safe investments, was willing to lose a few dollars during the time of +her apprenticeship. For the tales had enjoyed only a fleeting _succes +d'estime_. Her style was, like her temperament, delicately constructed +and of extreme refinement, not the style to appeal to the masses. It was +"searched," a little _precieuse_, and the tales themselves were +diaphanous enough, polished little _contes_, the points subtle, the +action turning upon minute psychological distinctions. + +Yet she had worked desperately hard upon their composition. She was of +those very few who sincerely cannot write unless the mood be propitious; +and her state of mind, the condition of her emotions, was very apt to +influence her work for good or ill, as the case might be. + +But a _succes d'estime_ fills no purses, and favorable reviews in the +literary periodicals are not "negotiable paper." Rosella could not yet +live wholly by her pen, and thought herself fortunate when the house +offered her the position of reader. + +This arrival of hers was no doubt to be hastened, if not actually +assured, by the publication of her first novel, "Patroclus," upon which +she was at this time at work. The evening before, she had read the draft +of the story to Trevor, and even now, as she cut the string of the first +manuscript of the pile, she was thinking over what Trevor had said of +it, and smiling as she thought. + +It was through Conant that Rosella had met the great novelist and +critic, and it was because of Conant that Trevor had read Rosella's +first little book. He had taken an interest at once, and had found +occasion to say to her that she had it in her to make a niche for +herself in American letters. + +He was a man old enough to be her grandfather, and Rosella often came to +see him in his study, to advise with him as to doubtful points in her +stories or as to ideas for those as yet unwritten. To her his opinion +was absolutely final. This old gentleman, this elderly man of letters, +who had seen the rise and fall of a dozen schools, was above the +influence of fads, and he whose books were among the classics even +before his death was infallible in his judgments of the work of the +younger writers. All the stages of their evolution were known to +him--all their mistakes, all their successes. He understood; and a story +by one of them, a poem, a novel, that bore the stamp of his approval, +was "sterling." Work that he declared a failure was such in very +earnest, and might as well be consigned as speedily as possible to the +grate or the waste-basket. + +When, therefore, he had permitted himself to be even enthusiastic over +"Patroclus," Rosella had been elated beyond the power of expression, and +had returned home with blazing cheeks and shining eyes, to lie awake +half the night thinking of her story, planning, perfecting, considering +and reconsidering. + +Like her short stories, the tale was of extreme delicacy in both +sentiment and design. It was a little fanciful, a little elaborate, but +of an ephemeral poetry. It was all "atmosphere," and its success +depended upon the minutest precision of phrasing and the nicest harmony +between idea and word. There was much in mere effect of words; and more +important than mere plot was the feeling produced by the balancing of +phrases and the cadence of sentence and paragraph. + +Only a young woman of Rosella's complexity, of her extreme +sensitiveness, could have conceived "Patroclus," nor could she herself +hope to complete it successfully at any other period of her life. Any +earlier she would have been too immature to adapt herself to its +demands; any later she would have lost the spontaneity, the _jeunesse_, +and the freshness which were to contribute to its greatest charm. + +The tale itself was simple. Instead of a plot, a complication, it built +itself around a central idea, and it was the originality of this idea, +this motif, that had impressed Trevor so strongly. Indeed, Rosella's +draft could convey no more than that. Her treatment was all to follow. +But here she was sure of herself. The style would come naturally as she +worked. + +She was ambitious, and in her craving to succeed, to be recognized and +accepted, was all that passionate eagerness that only the artist knows. +So far success had been denied her; but now at last she seemed to see +light. Her "Patroclus" would make her claims good. Everything depended +upon that. + +She had thought over this whole situation while she removed the +wrappings from the first manuscript of the pile upon her desk. Even then +her fingers itched for the pen, and the sentences and phrases of the +opening defined themselves clearly in her mind. But that was not to be +the immediate work. The unlovely bread-and-butter business pressed upon +her. With a long breath she put the vision from her and turned her +attention to the task at hand. + +After her custom, she went through the pile, glancing at the titles and +first lines of each manuscript, and putting it aside in the desk corner +to be considered in detail later on. + +She almost knew in advance that of the thirty-odd volunteers of that +day's batch not one would prove available. The manuscripts were tagged +and numbered in the business office before they came to her, and the +number of the first she picked up that morning was 1120, and this since +the first of the year. Of the eleven hundred she had accepted only +three. Of these three, two had failed entirely after publication; the +third had barely paid expenses. What a record! How hopeless it seemed! +Yet the strugglers persisted. Did it not seem as if No. 1120, Mrs. Allen +Bowen of Bentonville, South Dakota--did it not seem as if she could know +that the great American public has no interest in, no use for, "Thoughts +on the Higher Life," a series of articles written for the county +paper--foolish little articles revamped from Ruskin and Matthew Arnold? + +And 1121--what was this? The initial lines ran: "'Oh, damn everything!' +exclaimed Percival Holcombe, as he dropped languidly into a deep-seated +leather chair by the club window which commanded a view of the noisy +street crowded with fashion and frivolity, wherein the afternoon's sun, +freed from its enthralling mists, which all day long had jealously +obscured his beams, was gloating o'er the panels of the carriages of +noblemen who were returning from race-track and park, and the towhead of +the little sweeper who plied his humble trade which earned his scanty +supper that he ate miles away from that gay quarter wherein Percival +Holcombe, who----" Rosella paused for sheer breath. This sort did not +need to be read. It was declined already. She picked up the next. It was +in an underwear-box of green pasteboard. + +"The staid old town of Salem," it read, "was all astir one bright and +sunny morning in the year 1604." Rosella groaned. "Another!" she said. +"Now," she continued, speaking to herself and shutting her eyes--"now +about the next page the 'portly burgess' will address the heroine as +'Mistress,' and will say, 'An' whither away so early?'" She turned over +to verify. She was wrong. The portly burgess had said: "Good morrow, +Mistress Priscilla. An' where away so gaily bedizened?" She sighed as +she put the manuscript away. "Why, and, oh, why _will_ they do it!" she +murmured. + +The next one, 1123, was a story "Compiled from the Memoirs of One Perkin +Althorpe, Esq., Sometime Field-Coronet in His Majesty's Troop of Horse," +and was sown thick with objurgation--"Ods-wounds!" "Body o' me!" "A +murrain on thee!" "By my halidom!" and all the rest of the sweepings and +tailings of Scott and the third-rate romanticists. + +"Declined," said Rosella, firmly, tossing it aside. She turned to 1124: + +"About three o'clock of a roseate day in early spring two fashionables +of the softer sex, elegantly arrayed, might have been observed +sauntering languidly down Fifth Avenue. + +"'Are you going to Mrs. Van Billion's musicale tonight?' inquired the +older of the two, a tall and striking demi-brunette, turning to her +companion. + +"'No, indeed,' replied the person thus addressed, a blonde of exquisite +coloring. 'No, indeed. The only music one hears there is the chink of +silver dollars. Ha! ha! ha! ha!'" + +Rosella winced as if in actual physical anguish. "And the author calls +it a 'social satire'!" she exclaimed. "How can she! How can she!" + +She turned to the next. It was written in script that was a model of +neatness, margined, correctly punctuated, and addressed, "Harold +Vickers," with the town and State. Its title was "The Last Dryad," and +the poetry of the phrase stuck in her mind. She read the first lines, +then the first page, then two. + +"Come," said Rosella, "there is something in this." At once she was in a +little valley in Boeotia in the Arcadian day. It was evening. There was +no wind. Somewhere a temple, opalescent in the sunset, suggested rather +than defined itself. A landscape developed such as Turner in a quiet +mood might have evolved, and with it a feeling of fantasy, of +remoteness, of pure, true classicism. A note of pipes was in the air, +sheep bleated, and Daphne, knee-deep in the grass, surging an answer to +the pipes, went down to meet her shepherd. + +Rosella breathed a great sigh of relief. Here at last was a +possibility--a new writer with a new, sane view of his world and his +work. A new poet, in fine. She consulted the name and address +given--Harold Vickers, Ash Fork, Arizona. There was something in that +Harold; perhaps education and good people. But the Vickers told her +nothing. And where was Ash Fork, Arizona; and why and how had "The Last +Dryad" been written there, of all places the green world round? How came +the inspiration for that classic _paysage_, such as Ingres would have +loved, from the sage-brush, and cactus? "Well," she told herself, "Moore +wrote 'Lalla Rookh' in a back room in London, among the chimney-pots and +soot. Maybe the proportion is inverse. But, Mr. Harold Vickers of Ash +Fork, Arizona, your little book is, to say the least, well worth its +ink." + +She went through the other manuscripts as quickly as was consistent with +fairness, and declined them all. Then settling herself comfortably in +her chair, she plunged, with the delight of an explorer venturing upon +new ground, into the pages of "The Last Dryad." + + * * * * * + +Four hours later she came, as it were, to herself, to find that she sat +lax in her place, with open, upturned palms, and eyes vacantly fixed +upon the opposite wall. "The Last Dryad," read to the final word, was +tumbled in a heap upon the floor. It was past her luncheon hour. Her +cheeks flamed; her hands were cold and moist; and her heart beat thick +and slow, clogged, as it were, by its own heaviness. + +But the lapse of time was naught to her, nor the fever that throbbed in +her head. Her world, like a temple of glass, had come down dashing about +her. The future, which had beckoned her onward,--a fairy in the path +wherein her feet were set,--was gone, and at the goal of her ambition +and striving she saw suddenly a stranger stand, plucking down the golden +apples that she so long and passionately had desired. + +For "The Last Dryad" was her own, her very, very own and cherished +"Patroclus." + +That the other author had taken the story from a different view-point, +that his treatment varied, that the approach was his own, that the +wording was his own, produced not the least change upon the final +result. The idea, the motif, was identical in each; identical in every +particular, identical in effect, in suggestion. The two tales were one. +That was the fact, the unshakable fact, the block of granite that a +malicious fortune had flung athwart her little pavilion of glass. + +At first she jumped to the conclusion of chicanery. At first there +seemed no other explanation. "He stole it," she cried, rousing +vehemently from her inertia--"mine--mine. He stole my story." + +But common sense prevailed in the end. No, there was no possible chance +for theft. She had not spoken of "Patroclus" to any one but Trevor. Her +manuscript draft had not once left her hands. No; it was a coincidence, +nothing more--one of those fateful coincidences with which the +scientific and literary worlds are crowded. And he, this unknown +Vickers, this haphazard genius of Ash Fork, Arizona, had the prior +claim. Her "Patroclus" must remain unwritten. The sob caught and +clutched at her throat at last. + +"Oh," she cried in a half-whisper--"oh, my chance, my hopes, my foolish +little hopes! And now _this_! To have it all come to nothing--when I was +so proud, so buoyant--and Mr. Trevor and all! Oh, could anything be more +cruel!" + +And then, of all moments, _ex machina_, Harold Vickers's card was handed +in. + +She stared at it an instant, through tears, amazed and incredulous. +Surely some one was playing a monstrous joke upon her today. Soon she +would come upon the strings and false bottoms and wigs and masks of the +game. But the office boy's contemplation of her distress was real. +Something must be done. The whole machine of things could not +indefinitely hang thus suspended, inert, waiting her pleasure. + +"Yes," she exclaimed all at once. "Very well; show him in;" and she had +no more than gathered up the manuscript of "The Last Dryad" from the +floor when its author entered the room. + +He was very young,--certainly not more than twenty-three,--tall, rather +poorly dressed, an invalid, beyond doubt, and the cough and the flush on +the high cheek-bone spelled the name of the disease. The pepper-and-salt +suit, the shoe-string cravat, and the broad felt hat were frankly +Arizona. And he was diffident, constrained, sitting uncomfortably on the +chair as a mark of respect, smiling continually, and, as he talked, +throwing in her name at almost every phrase: + +"No, Miss. Beltis; yes, Miss. Beltis; quite right, Miss. Beltis." + +His embarrassment helped her to her own composure, and by the time she +came to question him as to his book and the reasons that brought him +from Ash Fork to New York, she had herself in hand. + +"I have received an unimportant government appointment in the Fisheries +Department," he explained, "and as I was in New York for the week I +thought I might--not that I wished to seem to hurry you, Miss. +Beltis--but I thought I might ask if you had come to--to my little book +yet." + +In five minutes of time Rosella knew just where Harold Vickers was to be +placed, to what type he belonged. He was the young man of great talent +who, so far from being discovered by the outside world, had not even +discovered himself. He would be in two minds as yet about his calling in +life, whether it was to be the hatching of fish or the writing of "Last +Dryads." No one had yet taken him in hand, had so much as spoken a word +to him. If she told him now that his book was a ridiculous failure, he +would no doubt say--and believe--that she was quite right, that he had +felt as much himself. If she told him his book was a little masterpiece, +he would be just as certain to tell himself, and with equal sincerity, +that he had known it from the first. + +He had offered his manuscript nowhere else as yet. He was as new as an +overnight daisy, and as destructible in Rosella's hands. + +"Yes," she said at length, "I have read your manuscript." She paused a +moment, then: "But I am not quite ready to pass upon it yet." + +He was voluble in his protestations. + +"Oh, that is all right," she interrupted. "I can come to the second +reading in a day or two. I could send you word by the end of the week." + +"Thank you, Miss. Beltis." He paused awkwardly, smiling in deprecatory +fashion. "Do you--from what you have seen of it--read of it--do you--how +does it strike you? As good enough to publish--or fit for the +waste-basket?" + +Ah, why had this situation leaped upon her thus unawares, and all +unprepared! Why had she not been allowed time, opportunity, to fortify +herself! + +What she said now would mean so much. Best err, then, on the safe side; +and which side was that? Her words seemed to come of themselves, and she +almost physically felt herself withdraw from the responsibility of what +this other material Rosella Beltis was saying. + +"I don't know," said the other Rosella. "I should not care to say--so +soon. You see--there are so many manuscripts. I generally trust to the +first impression on the second reading." She did not even hear his +answer, but she said, when he had done speaking, that even in case of an +unfavorable report there were, of course, other publishers. + +But he answered that the judgment of such a house as the Conants would +suffice for him. Somehow he could not peddle his story about New York. +If the Conants would not take his work, nobody would. + +And that was the last remark of importance he made. During the few +remaining moments of his visit they spoke of unessentials, and before +she was aware, he had gone away, leaving with her a memorandum of his +address at the time. + + * * * * * + +She did not sleep that night. When she left the office she brought "The +Last Dryad" home with her, and till far into the night she read it and +re-read it, comparing it and contrasting it with "Patroclus," searching +diligently if perhaps there were not some minute loophole of evasion, +some devious passage through which she might escape. But amid the +shattered panes of her glass pavilion the block of stone persisted, +inert, immovable. The stone could not be raised, the little edifice +could not be rebuilt. + +Then at last, inevitably, the temptation came--came and grew and shut +about her and gripped her close. She began to temporize, to advance +excuses. Was not her story the better one? Granted that the idea was the +same, was not the treatment, the presentation, more effective? Should +not the fittest survive? Was it not right that the public should have +the better version? Suppose "Patroclus" had been written by a third +person, and she had been called upon to choose between it and "The Last +Dryad," would she not have taken "Patroclus" and rejected the other? Ah, +but "Patroclus" was not yet written! Well, that was true. But the draft +of it was; the idea of it had been conceived eight months ago. Perhaps +she had thought of her story before Vickers had thought of his. Perhaps? +No; it was very probable; there was no doubt of it, in fact. That was +the important thing: the conception of the idea, not the execution. And +if this was true, her claim was prior. + +But what would Conant say of such reasoning, and Trevor--would they +approve? Would they agree? + +"Yes, they would," she cried the instant the thought occurred to her. +"Yes, they would, they would, they would; I know they would. I am sure +of it; sure of it." + +But she knew they would not. The idea of right persisted and persisted. +Rosella was on the rack, and slowly, inevitably, resistlessly the +temptation grew and gathered, and snared her feet and her hands, and, +fold on fold, lapped around her like a veil. + +A great and feminine desire to shift the responsibility began to possess +her mind. + +"I cannot help it," she cried. "I am not to blame. It is all very well +to preach, but how would--any one do in my case? It is not my fault." + +And all at once, without knowing how or why, she found that she had +written, sealed, stamped, and addressed a note to Harold Vickers +declining his story. + +But this was a long way from actually rejecting "The Last +Dryad"--rejecting it in favor of "Patroclus." She had only written the +note, so she told herself, just to see how the words would look. It was +merely an impulse; would come to nothing, of course. Let us put it +aside, that note, and seriously consider this trying situation. + +Somehow it seemed less trying now; somehow the fact of her distress +seemed less poignant. There was a way out of it--stop. No; do not look +at the note there on the table. There was a way out, no doubt, but not +that one; no, of course not that one. Rosella laughed a little. How +easily some one else, less scrupulous, would solve this problem! Well, +she could solve it, too, and keep her scruples as well; but not tonight. +Now she was worn out. Tomorrow it would look different to her. + +She went to bed and tossed wide-eyed and wakeful till morning, then +rose, and after breakfast prepared to go to the office as usual. The +manuscript of "The Last Dryad" lay on her table, and while she was +wrapping it up her eye fell upon the note to Harold Vickers. + +"Why," she murmured, with a little grimace of astonishment--"why, how is +this? I thought I burned that last night. How _could_ I have +forgotten!" + +She could have burned it then. The fire was crackling in the grate; she +had but to toss it in. But she preferred to delay. + +"I will drop it in some ash-can or down some sewer on the way to the +office," she said to herself. She slipped it into her muff and hurried +away. But on the way to the cable-car no ash-can presented itself. True, +she discovered the opening of a sewer on the corner where she took her +car. But a milkman and a police officer stood near at hand in +conversation, occasionally glancing at her, and no doubt they would have +thought it strange to see this well-dressed young woman furtively +dropping a sealed letter into a sewer-vent. + +She held it awkwardly in her hand all of her way down-town, and still +carried it there when she had descended from her car and took her way up +the cross-street toward Conant's. + +She suddenly remembered that she had other letters to mail that morning. +For two days the weekly epistles that she wrote home to her mother and +younger sister had been overlooked in her pocket. She found a mail-box +on the corner by the Conant building and crossed over to it, holding her +mother's and sister's letters in one hand and the note to Vickers in the +other. + +Carefully scanning the addresses, to make sure she did not confuse the +letters, she dropped in her home correspondence, then stood there a +moment irresolute. + +Irresolute as to what, she could not say. Her decision had been taken in +the matter of "The Last Dryad." She would accept it, as it deserved. +Whether she was still to write "Patroclus" was a matter to be +considered later. Well, she was glad she had settled it all. If she had +not come to this conclusion she might have been, at that very instant, +dropping the letter to Harold Vickers into the box. She would have +stood, thus, facing the box, have raised the cast-iron flap,--this with +one hand,--and with the other have thrust the note into the slide--thus. + +Her fingers closed hard upon the letter at the very last instant--ah, +not too late. But suppose she had, but for one second, opened her thumb +and forefinger and--what? What would come of it? + +And there, with the letter yet on the edge of the drop she called up +again the entire situation, the identity of the stories, the +jeopardizing--no, the wrecking--of her future career by this +chance-thrown barrier in the way. Why hesitate, why procrastinate? Her +thoughts came to her in a whirl. If she acted quickly now,--took the +leap with shut eyes, reckless of result,--she could truly be sorry then, +truly acknowledge what was right, believe that Vickers had the prior +claim without the hard necessity of acting up to her convictions. At +least, this harrowing indecision would be over with. + +"Indecision?" What was this she was saying? Had she not this moment told +herself that she was resolved--resolved to accept "The Last Dryad"? +Resolved to accept it? Was that true? Had she done so? Had she not made +up her mind long ago to decline it--decline it with full knowledge that +its author would destroy it once the manuscript should be returned? + +These thoughts had whisked through her mind with immeasurable rapidity. +The letter still rested half in, half out of the drop. She still held it +there. + +By now Rosella knew if she let it fall she would do so deliberately, +with full knowledge of what she was about. She could not afterward +excuse herself by saying that she had been confused, excited, acting +upon an unreasoned impulse. No; it would be deliberate, deliberate, +deliberate. She would have to live up to that decision, whatever it was, +for many months to come, perhaps for years. Perhaps,--who could +say?--perhaps it might affect her character permanently. In a crisis +little forces are important, disproportionately so. And then it was, and +thus it was, that Rosella took her resolve. She raised the iron flap +once more, and saying aloud and with a ring of defiance in her voice: +"Deliberately, deliberately; I don't care," loosed her hold upon the +letter. She heard it fall with a soft rustling impact upon the +accumulated mail-matter in the bottom of the box. + +A week later she received her letter back with a stamped legend across +its face informing her with dreadful terseness that the party to whom +the letter was addressed was deceased. She divined a blunder, but for +all that, and with conflicting emotions, sought confirmation in the +daily press. There, at the very end of the column, stood the notice: + + VICKERS. At New York, on Sunday, November 12, Harold Anderson + Vickers, in the twenty-third year of his age. Arizona papers please + copy. Notice of funeral hereafter. + +Three days later she began to write "Patroclus." + + * * * * * + +Rosella stood upon the door-step of Trevor's house, closing her umbrella +and shaking the water from the folds of her mackintosh. It was between +eight and nine in the evening, and since morning a fine rain had fallen +steadily. But no stress of weather could have kept Rosella at home that +evening. A week previous she had sent to Trevor the type-written copy of +the completed "Patroclus," and tonight she was to call for the +manuscript and listen to his suggestions and advice. + +She had triumphed in the end--triumphed over what, she had not always +cared to inquire. But once the pen in her hand, once "Patroclus" begun, +and the absorption of her mind, her imagination, her every faculty, in +the composition of the story, had not permitted her to think of or to +remember anything else. + +And she saw that her work was good. She had tested it by every method, +held it up to her judgment in all positions and from all sides, and in +her mind, so far as she could see, and she was a harsh critic for her +own work, it stood the tests. Not the least of her joys was the pleasure +that she knew Trevor would take in her success. She could foresee just +the expression of his face when he would speak, could forecast just the +tones of the voice, the twinkle of the kindly eyes behind the glasses. + +When she entered the study, she found Trevor himself, as she had +expected, waiting for her in slippers and worn velvet jacket, pipe in +hand, and silk skullcap awry upon the silver-white hair. He extended an +inky hand, and still holding it and talking, led her to an easy-chair +near the hearth. + +Even through the perturbation of her mind Rosella could not but +wonder--for the hundredth time--at the apparent discrepancy between the +great novelist and the nature of his books. These latter were, each and +all of them, wonders of artistic composition, compared with the hordes +of latter-day pictures. They were the aristocrats of their kind, full of +reserved force, unimpeachable in dignity, stately even, at times +veritably austere. + +And Trevor himself was a short, rotund man, rubicund as to face, +bourgeois as to clothes and surroundings (the bisque statuette of a +fisher-boy obtruded the vulgarity of its gilding and tinting from the +mantelpiece), jovial in manner, indulging even in slang. One might +easily have set him down as a retired groceryman--wholesale perhaps, but +none the less a groceryman. Yet touch him upon the subject of his +profession, and the bonhomie lapsed away from him at once. Then he +became serious. Literature was not a thing to be trifled with. + +Thus it was tonight. For five minutes Trevor filled the room with the +roaring of his own laughter and the echoes of his own vociferous voice. +He was telling a story--a funny story, about what Rosella, with her +thoughts on "Patroclus," could not for the life of her have said, and +she must needs listen in patience and with perfunctory merriment while +the narrative was conducted to its close with all the accompaniment of +stamped feet and slapped knees. + +"'Why, becoth, mithtah,' said that nigger. 'Dat dawg ain' good fo' +nothin' ailse; so I jes rickon he 'th boun' to be a coon dawg;'" and the +author of "Snow in April" pounded the arm of his chair and roared till +the gas-fixtures vibrated. + +Then at last, taking advantage of a lull in the talk, Rosella, unable +to contain her patience longer, found breath to remark: + +"And 'Patroclus'--my--my little book?" + +"Ah--hum, yes. 'Patroclus,' your story. I've read it." + +At once another man was before her, or rather the writer--the +novelist--_in_ the man. Something of the dignity of his literary style +immediately seemed to invest him with a new character. He fell quiet, +grave, not a little abstracted, and Rosella felt her heart sink. Her +little book (never had it seemed so insignificant, so presumptuous as +now) had been on trial before a relentless tribunal, had indeed +undergone the ordeal of fire. But the verdict, the verdict! Quietly, but +with cold hands clasped tight together, she listened while the greatest +novelist of America passed judgment upon her effort. + +"Yes; I've read it," continued Trevor. "Read it carefully--carefully. +You have worked hard upon it. I can see that. You have put your whole +soul into it, put all of yourself into it. The narrative is all there, +and I have nothing but good words to say to you about the construction, +the mere mechanics of it. But----" + +Would he never go on? What was this? What did that "But" mean? What else +but disaster could it mean? Rosella shut her teeth. + +"But, to speak frankly, my dear girl, there is something lacking. Oh, +the idea, the motif--that----" he held up a hand. "That is as intact as +when you read me the draft. The central theme, the approach, the +grouping of the characters, the dialogue--all good--all good. The thing +that is lacking I find very hard to define. But the _mood_ of the +story, shall we say?--the mood of the story is----" he stopped, frowning +in perplexity, hesitating. The great master of words for once found +himself at a loss for expression. "The mood is somehow truculent, when +it should be as suave, as quiet, as the very river you describe. Don't +you see? Can't you understand what I mean? In this 'Patroclus' the +atmosphere, the little, delicate, subtle sentiment, is +everything--everything. What was the mere story? Nothing without the +proper treatment. And it was just in this fine, intimate relationship +between theme and treatment that the success of the book was to be +looked for. I thought I could be sure of you there. I thought that you +of all people could work out that motif adequately. But"--he waved a +hand over the manuscript that lay at her elbow--"this--it is not the +thing. This is a poor criticism, you will say, merely a marshaling of +empty phrases, abstractions. Well, that may be; I repeat, it is very +hard for me to define just what there is of failure in your 'Patroclus.' +But it is empty, dry, hard, barren. Am I cruel to speak so frankly? If I +were less frank, my dear girl, I would be less just, less kind. You have +told merely the story, have narrated episodes in their sequence of time, +and where the episodes have stopped there you have ended the book. The +whole animus that should have put the life into it is gone, or, if it is +not gone, it is so perverted that it is incorrigible. To _my_ mind the +book is a failure." + +Rosella did not answer when Trevor ceased speaking, and there was a long +silence. Trevor looked at her anxiously. He had hated to hurt her. +Rosella gazed vaguely at the fire. Then at last the tears filled her +eyes. + +"I am sorry, very, very sorry," said Trevor, kindly. "But to have told +you anything but the truth would have done you a wrong--and, then, no +earnest work is altogether wasted. Even though 'Patroclus' is--not what +we expected of it, your effort over it will help you in something else. +You did work hard at it. I saw that. You must have put your whole soul +into it." + +"That," said Rosella, speaking half to herself--"that was just the +trouble." + +But Trevor did not understand. + + + + +HANTU + +BY + +HENRY MILNER RIDEOUT + +Reprinted from _The Atlantic Monthly_ of May, 1906 by permission + + +THE SCHOONER _Fulmar_ lay in a cove on the coast of Banda. Her sails, +half hoisted, dripped still from an equatorial shower, but, aloft, were +already steaming in the afternoon glare. Dr. Forsythe, captain and +owner, lay curled round his teacup on the cabin roof, watching the +horizon thoughtfully, with eyes like points of glass set in the puckered +bronze of his face. The "Seventh Officer," his only white companion, +watched him respectfully. All the Malays were asleep, stretched prone or +supine under the forward awning. Only Wing Kat stirred in the smother of +his galley below, rattling tin dishes, and repeating, in endless +falsetto sing-song, the Hankow ditty which begins,-- + + "'Yaou-yaou!' remarked the grasshoppers." + +Ashore, the coolies on the nutmeg plantations had already brought out +their mace to dry, and the baskets lay in vermilion patches on the +sun-smitten green, like gouts of arterial blood. White vapors round the +mountain peaks rose tortuously toward the blue; while seaward, rain +still filled the air as with black sand drifting down aslant, through +gaps in which we could descry far off a steel-bright strip of fair +weather that joined sea and sky, cutting under a fairy island so that it +seemed suspended in the air. + +"That's a pretty bit of land," said the doctor lazily. "'_Jam medio +apparet fluctu nemorosa Zacynthos_'. It might be, eh?--Humph!--Virgil +and Shakespeare are the only ones who sometimes make poetry endurable. +All the others are just little swollen Egos." + +This was an unusual excursion, and he quickly returned to practical +matters. + +"There's a better anchorage over there," he drawled, waving the milk-tin +toward Zacynthos. "And less danger of our being caught than here. But no +use; we've got to humor the crew, of course. When they say '_pulo +burrantu_,' that settles it. Haunted islands--ghosts--fatal to +discipline. I used to have cruises spoiled by that sort of thing. We +must stay here and chance being found." + +He shot a stream of Java sugar into the tea, and, staring at the +sleepers, rubbed his shaven head thoughtfully. + +"Oh, yes, 'superstition,' all very easy to say," he muttered, half to +himself. "But who _knows_, eh? Must be something in it, at times." + +His mood this afternoon was new and surprising. Nor was it likely to +occur often in such a man. He had brought the _Fulmar_ round the south +of Celebes, making for Ceram; but as the Dutch had forbidden him to +travel in the interior, saying that the natives were too dangerous just +then; and as Sidin, the mate, had sighted the Dutch tricolor flying +above drab hulls that came nosing southward from Amboina way, we had +dodged behind the Bandas till nightfall. The crew laughed at the _babi +blanda_--Dutch pigs; but every man of them would have fled ashore had +they known that among the hampers and bundled spears in our hold lay the +dried head of a little girl, a human sacrifice from Engano. If we got +into Ceram (and got out again), the doctor would reduce the whole affair +to a few tables of anthropological measurements, a few more hampers of +birds, beasts, and native rubbish in the hold, and a score of paragraphs +couched in the evaporated, millimetric terms of science. There would be +a few duplicates for Raffles, some tin-lined cases, including the +clotted head of the little girl, for the British Museum; the total +upshot would attract much less public notice than the invention of a new +"part" for a motor car; and the august structure of science, like a +coral tree, would increase by another atom. In the meantime, we lay +anchored, avoiding ironclads and ghosts. + +Dinner we ate below, with seaward port-holes blinded, and sweat dripping +from our chins. Then we lay on the cabin roof again, in breech-clouts, +waiting for a breeze, and showing no light except the red coals of two +Burmah cheroots. + +For long spaces we said nothing. Trilling of crickets ashore, sleepy +cooing of nutmeg-pigeons, chatter of monkeys, hiccough of tree lizards, +were as nothing in the immense, starlit silence of the night, heavily +sweet with cassia and mace. Forward, the Malays murmured now and then, +in sentences of monotonous cadence. + +"No, you can't blame them," said the captain abruptly, with decision. +"Considering the unholy strangeness of the world we live in----" He +puffed twice, the palm of his hand glowing. "Things you can't explain," +he continued vaguely. "Now this--I thought of it today, speaking of +_hantu_. Perhaps you can explain it, being a youngster without theories. +The point is, of what follows, how much, if any, was a dream? Where were +the partition lines between sleep and waking,--between what we call +Certainty, and--the other thing? Or else, by a freak of nature, might a +man live so long--Nonsense!--Never mind; here are the facts." + + * * * * * + +Eleven years ago, I had the _Fulmar_ a ten months' cruise out of +Singapore, and was finally coming down along Celebes, intending to go +over to Batavia. We anchored on just such a day as this has been, off a +little old river-mouth, so badly silted that she had to lie well out. A +chief in a _campong_ half a day inland had promised to send some +specimens down that evening,--armor, harps, stone Priapuses, and birds +of paradise. The men were to come overland, and would have no boats. So +I went ashore with three or four Malays, and the Old Boy's time we had +poking in and out over the silt to find fairway, even for the gig. At +last we could make round toward a little clearing in the bamboos, with a +big canary tree in the middle. All was going well, when suddenly the +mate grunted, pointing dead ahead. That man Sidin has the most +magnificent eyes: we were steering straight into a dazzling glare. I +couldn't see anything, neither could the crew, for some time. + +"_Tuggur_!" cried the mate. He was getting nervous. Then all of a +sudden--"_Brenti_!" + +The crew stopped like a shot. Then they saw, too, and began to back +water and turn, all pulling different ways and yelling: "_Prau hantu!... +sampar_! _...Sakit lepra! Kolera!... hantu!_" + +As we swung, I saw what it was,--a little carved prau like a child's toy +boat, perhaps four feet long, with red fiber sails and red and gilt +flags from stem to stern. It was rocking there in our swell, innocently, +but the crew were pulling for the schooner like crazy men. + +I was griffin enough at the time, but I knew what it meant, of +course,--it was an enchanted boat, that the priests in some +village--perhaps clear over in New Guinea--had charmed the cholera or +the plague on board of. Same idea as the Hebrew scapegoat. + +"_Brenti_!" I shouted. The Malays stopped rowing, but let her run. +Nothing would have tempted them within oar's-length of that prau. + +"See here, Sidin," I protested, "I go ashore to meet the _kapala's_ +men." + +"We do not go," the fellow said. "If you go, Tuan, you die: the priest +has laid the cholera on board that prau. It has come to this shore. Do +not go, Tuan." + +"She hasn't touched the land yet," I said. + +This seemed to have effect. + +"Row me round to that point and land me," I ordered. "_Hantu_ does not +come to white men. You go out to the ship; when I have met the +soldier-messengers, row back, and take me on board with the gifts." + +The mate persuaded them, and they landed me on the point, half a mile +away, with a box of cheroots, and a roll of matting to take my nap on. +I walked round to the clearing, and spread my mat under the canary tree, +close to the shore. All that blessed afternoon I waited, and smoked, and +killed a snake, and made notes in a pocket Virgil, and slept, and smoked +again; but no sign of the bearers from the _campong_. I made signals to +the schooner,--she was too far out to hail,--but the crew took no +notice. It was plain they meant to wait and see whether the _hantu_ prau +went out with the ebb or not; and as it was then flood, and dusk, they +couldn't see before morning. So I picked some bananas and chicos, and +made a dinner of them; then I lighted a fire under the tree, to smoke +and read Virgil by,--in fact, spent the evening over my notes. That +editor was a _pukkah_ ass! It must have been pretty late before I +stretched out on my matting. + +I was a long time going to sleep,--if I went to sleep at all. I lay and +watched the firelight and shadows in the _lianas_, the bats fluttering +in and out across my patch of stars, and an ape that stole down from +time to time and peered at me, sticking his blue face out from among the +creepers. At one time a shower fell in the clearing, but only pattered +on my ceiling of broad leaves. + +After a period of drowsiness, something moved and glittered on the +water, close to the bank; and there bobbed the ghost prau, the gilt and +vermilion flags shining in the firelight. She had come clear in on the +flood,--a piece of luck. I got up, cut a withe of bamboo, and made her +fast to a root. Then I fed the fire, lay down again, and watched her +back and fill on her tether,--all clear and ruddy in the flame, even +the carvings, and the little wooden figures of wizards on her deck. And +while I looked, I grew drowsier and drowsier; my eyes would close, then +half open, and there would be the _hantu_ sails and the fire for +company, growing more and more indistinct. + +So much for Certainty; now begins the Other. Did I fall asleep at all? +If so, was my first waking a dream-waking, and the real one only when +the thing was gone? I'm not an imaginative man; my mind, at home, +usually worked with some precision; but this,--there seems to be, you +might say, a blur, a--film over my mental retina. You see, I'm not a +psychologist, and therefore can't use the big, foggy terms of man's +conceit to explain what he never can explain,--himself, and Life. + + * * * * * + +The captain tossed his cheroot overboard, and was silent for a space. + +"The psychologists forget AEsop's frog story," he said at last. "Little +swollen Egos, again." + +Then his voice flowed on, slowly, in the dark. + + * * * * * + +I ask you just to believe this much: that I for my part feel sure +(except sometimes by daylight) that I was not more than half asleep when +a footfall seemed to come in the path, and waked me entirely. It didn't +sound,--only seemed to come. I believe, then, that I woke, roused up on +my elbow, and stared over at the opening among the bamboos where the +path came into the clearing. Some one moved down the bank, and drew +slowly forward to the edge of the firelight. A strange, whispering, +uncertain kind of voice said something,--something in Dutch. + +I didn't catch the words, and it spoke again:-- + +"What night of the month is this night?" + +If awake, I was just enough so to think this a natural question to be +asked first off, out here in the wilds. + +"It's the 6th," I answered in Dutch. "Come down to the fire, Mynheer." + +You know how bleary and sightless your eyes are for a moment, waking, +after the glare of these days. The figure seemed to come a little +nearer, but I could only see that it was a man dressed in black. Even +that didn't seem odd. + +"Of what month?" the stranger said. The voice was what the French call +"veiled." + +"June," I answered. + +"And what year?" he asked. + +I told him--or It. + +"He is very late," said the voice, like a sigh. "He should have sent +long ago." + +Only at this point did the whole thing begin to seem queer. As evidence +that I must have been awake, I recalled afterwards that my arm had been +made numb by the pressure of my head upon it while lying down, and now +began to tingle. + +"It is very late," the voice repeated. "Perhaps too late----" + +The fire settled, flared up fresh, and lighted the man's face dimly,--a +long, pale face with gray mustache and pointed beard. He was all in +black, so that his outline was lost in darkness; but I saw that round +his neck was a short white ruff, and that heavy leather boots hung in +folds, cavalier-fashion, from his knees. He wavered there in the dark, +against the flicker of the bamboo shadows, like a picture by that Dutch +fellow--What's-his-name-again--a very dim, shaky, misty Rembrandt. + +"And you, Mynheer," he went on, in the same toneless voice, "from where +do you come to this shore?" + +"From Singapore," I managed to reply. + +"From Singapura," he murmured. "And so white men live there now?--_Ja, +ja_, time has passed." + +Up till now I may have only been startled, but this set me in a blue +funk. It struck me all at once that this shaky old whisper of a voice +was not speaking the Dutch of nowadays. I never before knew the depths, +the essence, of that uncertainty which we call fear. In the silence, I +thought a drum was beating,--it was the pulse in my ears. The fire close +by was suddenly cold. + +"And now you go whither?" it said. + +"To Batavia," I must have answered, for it went on:-- + +"Then you may do a great service to me and to another. Go to Jacatra in +Batavia, and ask for Pieter Erberveld. Hendrik van der Have tells him to +cease--before it is too late, before the thing becomes accursed. Tell +him this. You will have done well, and I--shall sleep again. Give him +the message----" + +The voice did not stop, so much as fade away unfinished. And the man, +the appearance, the eyes, moved away further into the dark, dissolving, +retreating. A shock like waking came over me--a rush of clear +consciousness---- + +Humph! Yes, been too long away from home; for I know (mind you, _know_) +that I saw the white of that ruff, the shadowy sweep of a cloak, as +something turned its back and moved up the path under the pointed arch +of bamboos, and was gone slowly in the blackness. I'm as sure of this as +I am that the fire gave no heat. But whether the time of it all had been +seconds or hours, I can't tell you. + +What? Yes, naturally. I jumped and ran up the path after it. Nothing +there but starlight. I must have gone on for half a mile. Nothing: only +ahead of me, along the path, the monkeys would chatter and break into an +uproar, and then stop short--every treetop silent, as they do when a +python comes along. I went back to the clearing, sat down on the mat, +stayed there by clinching my will power, so to speak,--and watched +myself for other symptoms, till morning. None came. The fire, when I +heaped it, was as hot as any could be. By dawn I had persuaded myself +that it was a dream. No footprints in the path, though I mentioned a +shower before. + +At sunrise, the _kapala's_ men came down the path, little chaps in black +mediaeval armor made of petroleum tins, and coolies carrying piculs of +stuff that I wanted. So I was busy,--but managed to dismast the _hantu_ +prau and wrap it up in matting, so that it went aboard with the plunder. + +Yet this other thing bothered me so that I held the schooner over, and +made pretexts to stay ashore two more nights. Nothing happened. Then I +called myself a grandmother, and sailed for Batavia. + +Two nights later, a very singular thing happened. The mate--this one +with the sharp eyes--is a quiet chap; seldom speaks to me except on +business. He was standing aft that evening, and suddenly, without any +preliminaries, said: + +"Tuan was not alone the other night." + +"What's that, Sidin?" I spoke sharply, for it made me feel quite angry +and upset, of a sudden. He laughed a little, softly. + +"I saw that the fire was a cold fire," he said. That was all he would +say, and we've never referred to it again. + +You may guess the rest, if you know your history of Java. I didn't then, +and didn't even know Batavia,--had been ashore often, but only for a +_toelatingskaart_ and some good Dutch chow. Well, one afternoon, I was +loafing down a street, and suddenly noticed that the sign-board said, +"Jacatra-weg." The word made me jump, and brought the whole affair on +Celebes back like a shot,--and not as a dream. It became a live +question; I determined to treat it as one, and settle it. + +I stopped a fat Dutchman who was paddling down the middle of the street +in his pyjamas, smoking a cigar. + +"Pardon, Mynheer," I said. "Does a man live here in Jacatra-weg named +Erberveld?" + +"_Nej_," he shook his big shaved head. "_Nej_, Mynheer, I do not know." + +"Pieter Erberveld," I suggested. + +The man broke into a horse-laugh. + +"_Ja, ja_," he said, and laughed still. "I did not think of him. _Ja_, +on this way, opposite the timber yard, you will find his house." And he +went off, bowing and grinning hugely. + +The nature of the joke appeared later, but I wasn't inclined to laugh. +You've seen the place. No? Right opposite a timber yard in a cocoanut +grove: it was a heavy, whitewashed wall, as high as a man, and perhaps +two perches long. Where the gate should have been, a big tablet was set +in, and over that, on a spike, a skull, grinning through a coat of +cement. The tablet ran in eighteenth-century Dutch, about like this:-- + + BY REASON OF THE DETESTABLE MEMORY OF THE CONVICTED TRAITOR, PIETER + ERBERVELD, NO ONE SHALL BE PERMITTED TO BUILD IN WOOD OR STONE OR + TO PLANT ANYTHING UPON THIS GROUND, FROM NOW TILL JUDGMENT DAY. + BATAVIA, APRIL 14, ANNO 1772. + +You'll find the story in any book: the chap was a half-caste Guy Fawkes +who conspired to deliver Batavia to the King of Bantam, was caught, +tried, and torn asunder by horses. I nosed about and went through a hole +in a side wall: nothing in the compound but green mould, dried stalks, +dead leaves, and blighted banana trees. The inside of the gate was +blocked with five to eight feet of cement. The Dutch hate solidly. + +But Hendrik van der Have? No, I never found the name in any of the +books. So there you are. Well? Can a man dream of a thing before he +knows that thing, or---- + + * * * * * + +The captain's voice, which had flowed on in slow and dispassionate +soliloquy, became half audible, and ceased. As we gave ear to the +silence, we became aware that a cool stir in the darkness was growing +into a breeze. After a time, the thin crowing of game-cocks in distant +villages, the first twitter of birds among the highest branches, told us +that night had turned to morning. A soft patter of bare feet came along +the deck, a shadow stood above us, and the low voice of the mate said: + +"_Ada kapal api disitu, Tuan_--_saiah kirah_--_ada kapal prrang_." + +"Gunboat, eh?" Captain Forsythe was on his feet, and speaking briskly. +"_Bai, tarek jangcar_. Breeze comes just in time." + +We peered seaward from the rail; far out, two pale lights, between a red +coal and a green, shone against the long, glimmering strip of dawn. + +"Heading this way, but there's plenty of time," the captain said +cheerfully. "Take the wheel a minute, youngster--that's it,--keep her +in,--they can't see us against shore where it's still night." + +As the schooner swung slowly under way, his voice rose, gay as a +boy's:-- + +"Come on, you rice-fed admirals!" He made an improper gesture, his +profile and outspread fingers showing in the glow-worm light of the +binnacle. "If they follow us through by the Verdronken Rozengain, we'll +show them one piece 'e navigation. Can do, eh? These old iron-clad junks +are something a man knows how to deal with." + + + + +MISS JUNO + +BY + +CHARLES WARREN STODDARD + +_Copyright_, 1903, by A. M. Robertson Reprinted from FOR THE PLEASURE OF +HIS COMPANY + + +I + +THERE was an episode in the life of Paul Clitheroe that may possibly +throw some little light upon the mystery of his taking off; and in +connection with this matter it is perhaps worth detailing. + +One morning Paul found a drop-letter in the mail which greeted him +daily. It ran as follows: + + DEAR OLD BOY: + + Don't forget the reception tomorrow. Some one will be here whom I + wish you to know. + + Most affectionately, + + HARRY ENGLISH. + +The "tomorrow" referred to was the very day on which Paul received the +sweet reminder. The reception of the message somewhat disturbed his +customary routine. To be sure, he glanced through the morning journal as +usual; repaired to the Greek chop-house with the dingy green walls, the +smoked ceiling, the glass partition that separated the guests from a +kitchen lined with shining copper pans, where a cook in a white paper +cap wafted himself about in clouds of vapor, lit by occasional flashes +of light and ever curling flames, like a soul expiating its sins in a +prescribed but savory purgatory. He sat in his chosen seat, ignored his +neighbors with his customary nonchalance, and returned to his room, as +if nothing were about to happen. But he accomplished little, for he felt +that the day was not wholly his; so slight a cause seemed to change the +whole current of his life from hour to hour. + +In due season Paul entered a street car which ran to the extreme limit +of San Francisco. Harry English lived not far from the terminus, and to +the cozy home of this most genial and hospitable gentleman the youth +wended his way. The house stood upon the steep slope of a hill; the +parlor was upon a level with the street,--a basement dining-room below +it,--but the rear of the house was quite in the air and all of the rear +windows commanded a magnificent view of the North Bay with its islands +and the opposite mountainous shore. + +"Infinite riches in a little room," was the expression which came +involuntarily to Paul's lips the first time he crossed the threshold of +Thespian Lodge. He might have said it of the Lodge any day in the week; +the atmosphere was always balmy and soothing; one could sit there +without talking or caring to talk; even without realizing that one was +not talking and not being talked to; the silence was never ominous; it +was a wholesome and restful home, where Paul was ever welcome and +whither he often fled for refreshment. + +The walls of the whole house were crowded with pictures, framed +photographs and autographs, chiefly of theatrical celebrities; both +"Harry," as the world familiarly called him, and his wife, were members +of the dramatic profession and in their time had played many parts in +almost as many lands and latitudes. + +There was one chamber in this delightful home devoted exclusively to the +pleasures of entomology, and there the head of the house passed most of +the hours which he was free to spend apart from the duties of his +profession. He was a man of inexhaustible resources, consummate energy, +and unflagging industry, yet one who was never in the least hurried or +flurried; and he was Paul's truest and most judicious friend. + +The small parlor at the Englishes was nearly filled with guests when +Paul Clitheroe arrived upon the scene. These guests were not sitting +against the wall talking at each other; the room looked as if it were +set for a scene in a modern society comedy. In the bay window, a bower +of verdure, an extremely slender and diminutive lady was discoursing +eloquently with the superabundant gesticulation of the successful +society amateur; she was dilating upon the latest production of a minor +poet whose bubble reputation was at that moment resplendent with local +rainbows. Her chief listener was a languid beauty of literary +aspirations, who, in a striking pose, was fit audience for the little +lady as she frothed over with delightful, if not contagious, enthusiasm. + +Mrs. English, who had been a famous belle--no one who knew her now would +for a moment question the fact--devoted herself to the entertainment of +a group of silent people, people of the sort that are not only +colorless, but seem to dissipate the color in their immediate vicinity. +The world is full of such; they spring up, unaccountably, in locations +where they appear to the least advantage. Many a clever person who would +delight to adorn a circle he longs to enter, and where he would be +hailed with joy, through modesty, hesitates to enter it; while others, +who are of no avail in any wise whatever, walk bravely in and find +themselves secure through a quiet system of polite insistence. Among the +latter, the kind of people to be merely tolerated, we find, also, the +large majority. + +Two children remarkably self-possessed seized upon Paul the moment he +entered the room: a beautiful lad as gentle and as graceful as a girl, +and his tiny sister, who bore herself with the dignity of a little lady +of Lilliput. He was happy with them, quite as happy as if they were as +old and experienced as their elders and as well entertained by them, +likewise. He never in his life made the mistake that is, alas, made by +most parents and guardians, of treating children as if they were little +simpletons who can be easily deceived. How often they look with scorn +upon their elders who are playing the hypocrite to eyes which are, for +the most part, singularly critical! Having paid his respects to those +present--he was known to all--Paul was led a willing captive into the +chamber where Harry English and a brother professional, an eccentric +comedian, who apparently never uttered a line which he had not learned +out of a play-book, were examining with genuine enthusiasm certain cases +of brilliantly tinted butterflies. + +The children were quite at their ease in this house, and no wonder; +California children are born philosophers; to them the marvels of the +somewhat celebrated entomological collection were quite familiar; again +and again they had studied the peculiarities of the most rare and +beautiful specimens of insect life under the loving tutelage of their +friend, who had spent his life and a small fortune in gathering together +his treasures, and they were even able to explain in the prettiest +fashion the origin and use of the many curious objects that were +distributed about the rooms. + +Meanwhile Mme. Lillian, the dramatic one, had left her bower in the bay +window and was flitting to and fro in nervous delight; she had much to +say and it was always worth listening to. With available opportunities +she would have long since become famous and probably a leader of her +sex; but it was her fate to coach those of meaner capacities who were +ultimately to win fame and fortune while she toiled on, in genteel +poverty, to the end of her weary days. + +No two women could be more unlike than this many-summered butterfly, as +she hovered among her friends, and a certain comedy queen who was posing +and making a picture of herself; the latter was regarded by the +society-privates, who haunted with fearful delight the receptions at +Thespian Lodge, with the awe that inspired so many inexperienced people +who look upon members of the dramatic profession as creatures of another +and not a better world, and considerably lower than the angels. + +Two hours passed swiftly by; nothing ever jarred upon the guests in this +house; the perfect suavity of the host and hostess forbade anything like +antagonism among their friends; and though such dissimilar elements +might never again harmonize, they were tranquil for the time at least. + +The adieus were being said in the chamber of entomology, which was +somewhat overcrowded and faintly impregnated with the odor of _corrosive +sublimate_. From the windows overlooking the bay there was visible the +expanse of purple water and the tawny, sunburnt hills beyond, while +pale-blue misty mountains marked the horizon with an undulating outline. +A ship under full sail--a glorious and inspiring sight--was bearing down +before the stiff westerly breeze. + +Mme. Lillian made an apt quotation which terminated with a Delsartean +gesture and a rising inflection that seemed to exact something from +somebody; the comedienne struck one of her property attitudes, so +irresistibly comic that every one applauded, and Mme. Lillian laughed +herself to tears; then they all drifted toward the door. As mankind in +general has much of the sheep in him, one guest having got as far as the +threshold, the others followed; Paul was left alone with the Englishes +and those clever youngsters, whose coachman, accustomed to waiting +indefinitely at the Lodge, was dutifully dozing on the box seat. The +children began to romp immediately upon the departure of the last guest, +and during the riotous half-hour that succeeded, there was a fresh +arrival. The door-bell rang; Mrs. English, who was close at hand, turned +to answer it and at once bubbled over with unaffected delight. Harry, +still having his defunct legions in solemn review, recognized a cheery, +un-American voice, and cried, "There she is at last!" as he hastened to +meet the newcomer. + +Paul was called to the parlor where a young lady of the ultra-blonde +type stood with a faultlessly gloved hand in the hand of each of her +friends; she was radiant with life and health. Of all the young ladies +Paul could at that moment remember having seen, she was the most +exquisitely clad; the folds of her gown fell about her form like the +drapery of a statue; he was fascinated from the first moment of their +meeting. He noticed that nothing about her was ever disarranged; neither +was there anything superfluous or artificial, in manner or dress. She +was in his opinion an entirely artistic creation. She met him with a +perfectly frank smile, as if she were an old friend suddenly discovering +herself to him, and when Harry English had placed the hand of this +delightful person in one of Paul's she at once withdrew the other, which +Mrs. English fondly held, and struck it in a hearty half-boyish manner +upon their clasped hands, saying, "Awfully glad to see you, Paul!" and +she evidently meant it. + +This was Miss. Juno, an American girl bred in Europe, now, after years +of absence, passing a season in her native land. Her parents, who had +taken a country home in one of the California valleys, found in their +only child all that was desirable in life. This was not to be wondered +at; it may be said of her in the theatrical parlance that she "filled +the stage." When Miss. Juno dawned upon the scene the children grew +grave, and, after a little delay, having taken formal leave of the +company, they entered their carriage and were rapidly driven homeward. + +If Paul and Miss. Juno had been formed for one another and were now, at +the right moment and under the most favorable auspices, brought +together for the first time, they could not have mated more naturally. +If Miss. Juno had been a young man, instead of a very charming woman, +she would of course have been Paul's chum. If Paul had been a young +woman--some of his friends thought he had narrowly escaped it and did +not hesitate to say so--he would instinctively have become her +confidante. As it was, they promptly entered into a sympathetic +friendship which seemed to have been without beginning and was +apparently to be without end. + +They began to talk of the same things at the same moment, often uttering +the very same words and then turned to one another with little shouts of +unembarrassed laughter. They agreed upon all points, and aroused each +other to a ridiculous pitch of enthusiasm over nothing in particular. + +Harry English beamed; there was evidently nothing wanted to complete his +happiness. Mrs. English, her eyes fairly dancing with delight, could +only exclaim at intervals, "Bless the boy!" or, "What a pair of +children!" then fondly pass her arm about the waist of Miss. Juno--which +was not waspish in girth--or rest her hand upon Paul's shoulder with a +show of maternal affection peculiarly grateful to him. It was with +difficulty the half-dazed young fellow could keep apart from Miss. Juno. +If he found she had wandered into the next room, while he was engaged +for a moment, he followed at his earliest convenience, and when their +eyes met they smiled responsively without knowing why, and indeed not +caring in the least to know. + +They were as ingenuous as two children in their liking for one another; +their trust in each other would have done credit to the Babes in the +Wood. What Paul realized, without any preliminary analysis of his mind +or heart, was that he wanted to be near her, very near her; and that he +was miserable when this was not the case. If she was out of his sight +for a moment the virtue seemed to have gone from him and he fell into +the pathetic melancholy which he enjoyed in the days when he wrote a +great deal of indifferent verse, and was burdened with the conviction +that his mission in life was to make rhymes without end. + +In those days, he had acquired the habit of pitying himself. The +emotional middle-aged woman is apt to encourage the romantic young man +in pitying himself; it is a grewsome habit, and stands sturdily in the +way of all manly effort. Paul had outgrown it to a degree, but there is +nothing easier in life than a relapse--perhaps nothing so natural, yet +often so unexpected. + +Too soon the friends who had driven Miss. Juno to Thespian Lodge and +passed on--being unacquainted with the Englishes--called to carry her +away with them. She was shortly--in a day or two in fact--to rejoin her +parents, and she did not hesitate to invite Paul to pay them a visit. +This he assured her he would do with pleasure, and secretly vowed that +nothing on earth should prevent him. They shook hands cordially at +parting, and were still smiling their baby smiles in each other's faces +when they did it. Paul leaned against the door-jamb, while the genial +Harry and his wife followed his new-found friend to the carriage, where +they were duly presented to its occupants--said occupants promising to +place Thespian Lodge upon their list. As the carriage whirled away, +Miss. Juno waved that exquisitely gloved hand from the window and Paul's +heart beat high; somehow he felt as if he had never been quite so happy. +And this going away struck him as being a rather cruel piece of +business. To tell the whole truth, he couldn't understand why she should +go at all. + +He felt it more and more, as he sat at dinner with his old friends, the +Englishes, and ate with less relish than common the delicious Yorkshire +pudding and drank the musty ale. He felt it as he accompanied his +friends to the theater, where he sat with Mrs. English, while she +watched with pride the husband whose impersonations she was never weary +of witnessing; but Paul seemed to see him without recognizing him, and +even the familiar voice sounded unfamiliar, or like a voice in a dream. +He felt it more and more when good Mrs. English gave him a nudge toward +the end of the evening and called him "a stupid," half in sport and half +in earnest; and when he had delivered that excellent woman into the care +of her liege lord and had seen them securely packed into the horse-car +that was to drag them tediously homeward in company with a great +multitude of suffocating fellow-sufferers, he felt it; and all the way +out the dark street and up the hill that ran, or seemed to run, into +outer darkness--where his home was--he felt as if he had never been the +man he was until now, and that it was all for _her_ sake and through +_her_ influence that this sudden and unexpected transformation had come +to pass. And it seemed to him that if he were not to see her again, +very soon, his life would be rendered valueless; and that only to see +her were worth all the honor and glory that he had ever aspired to in +his wildest dreams; and that to be near her always and to feel that he +were much--nay, everything--to her, as before God he felt that at that +moment she was to him, would make his life one long Elysium, and to +death would add a thousand stings. + + +II + +Saadi had no hand in it, yet all Persia could not outdo it. The whole +valley ran to roses. They covered the earth; they fell from lofty +trellises in fragrant cataracts; they played over the rustic arbors like +fountains of color and perfume; they clambered to the cottage roof and +scattered their bright petals in showers upon the grass. They were of +every tint and texture; of high and low degree, modest or haughty as the +case might be--but roses all of them, and such roses as California alone +can boast. And some were fat or _passe_, and more's the pity, but all +were fragrant, and the name of that sweet vale was Santa Rosa. + +Paul was in the garden with Miss. Juno. He had followed her thither with +what speed he dared. She had expected him; there was not breathing-space +for conventionality between these two. In one part of the garden sat an +artist at his easel; by his side a lady somewhat his senior, but of the +type of face and figure that never really grows old, or looks it. She +was embroidering flowers from nature, tinting them to the life, and +rivaling her companion in artistic effects. These were the parents of +Miss. Juno--or rather not quite that. Her mother had been twice married; +first, a marriage of convenience darkened the earlier years of her life; +Miss. Juno was the only reward for an age of domestic misery. A +clergyman joined these parties--God had nothing to do with the compact; +it would seem that he seldom has. A separation very naturally and very +properly followed in the course of time; a young child was the only +possible excuse for the delay of the divorce. Thus are the sins of the +fathers visited upon the grandchildren. Then came a marriage of love. +The artist who having found his ideal had never known a moment's +weariness, save when he was parted from her side. Their union was +perfect; God had joined them. The stepfather to Miss. Juno had always +been like a big brother to her--even as her mother had always seemed +like an elder sister. + +Oh, what a trio was that, my countrymen, where liberty, fraternity and +equality joined hands without howling about it and making themselves a +nuisance in the nostrils of their neighbors! + +Miss. Juno stood in a rose-arbor and pointed to the artists at their +work. + +"Did you ever see anything like that, Paul?" + +"Like what?" + +"Like those sweet simpletons yonder. They have for years been quite +oblivious of the world about them. Thrones might topple, empires rise +and fall, it would matter nothing to them so long as their garden +bloomed, and the birds nested and sung, and he sold a picture once in an +age that the larder might not go bare." + +"I've seen something like it, Miss. Juno. I've seen fellows who never +bothered themselves about the affairs of others,--who, in short, minded +their own business strictly--and they got credit for being selfish." + +"Were they happy?" + +"Yes, in their way. Probably their way wasn't my way, and their kind of +happiness would bore me to death. You know happiness really can't be +passed around, like bon-bons or sherbet, for every one to taste. I hate +bon-bons: do you like them?" + +"That depends upon the quality and flavor--and--perhaps somewhat upon +who offers them. I never buy bon-bons for my private and personal +pleasure. Do any of you fellows really care for bon-bons?" + +"That depends upon the kind of happiness we are in quest of; I mean the +quality and flavor of the girl we are going to give them to." + +"Have girls a flavor?" + +"Some of them have--perhaps most of them haven't; neither have they form +nor feature, nor tint nor texture, nor anything that appeals to a fellow +of taste and sentiment." + +"I'm sorry for these girls of yours----" + +"You needn't be sorry for the girls; they are not my girls, and not one +of them ever will be mine if I can help it----" + +"Oh, indeed!" + +"They are nothing to me, and I'm nothing to them; but they are +just--they are just the formless sort of thing that a formless sort of +fellow always marries; they help to fill up the world, you know." + +"Yes, they help to fill a world that is overfull already. Poor Mama and +Eugene don't know how full it is. When Gene wants to sell a picture and +can't, he thinks it's a desert island." + +"Probably they could live on a desert island and be perfectly happy and +content," said Paul. + +"Of course they could; the only trouble would be that unless some one +called them at the proper hours they'd forget to eat--and some day +they'd be found dead locked in their last embrace." + +"How jolly!" + +"Oh, very jolly for very young lovers; they are usually such fools!" + +"And yet, I believe I'd like to be a fool for love's sake, Miss. Juno." + +"Oh, Paul, you are one for your own,--at least I'll think so, if you +work yourself into this silly vein!" + +Paul was silent and thoughtful. After a pause she continued. + +"The trouble with you is, you fancy yourself in love with every new girl +you meet--at least with the latest one, if she is at all out of the +ordinary line." + +"The trouble with me is that I don't keep on loving the same girl long +enough to come to the happy climax--if the climax _is_ to be a happy +one; of course it doesn't follow that it is to be anything of the sort. +I've been brought up in the bosom of too many families to believe in the +lasting quality of love. Yet they are happy, you say, those two gentle +people perpetuating spring on canvas and cambric. See, there is a small +cloud of butterflies hovering about them--one of them is panting in +fairy-like ecstasy on the poppy that decorates your Mama's hat!" + +Paul rolled a cigarette and offered it to Miss. Juno, in a mild spirit +of bravado. To his delight she accepted it, as if it were the most +natural thing in the world for a girl to do. He rolled another and they +sat down together in the arbor full of contentment. + +"Have you never been in love?" asked Paul suddenly. + +"Yes, I suppose so. I was engaged once; you know girls instinctively +engage themselves to some one whom they fancy; they imagine themselves +in love, and it is a pleasant fallacy. My engagement might have gone on +forever, if he had contented himself with a mere engagement. He was a +young army officer stationed miles and miles away. We wrote volumes of +letters to each other--and they were clever letters; it was rather like +a seaside novelette, our love affair. He was lonely, or restless, or +something, and pressed his case. Then Mama and Gene--those ideal +lovers--put their feet down and would none of it." + +"And you?" + +"Of course I felt perfectly wretched for a whole week, and imagined +myself cruelly abused. You see he was a foreigner, without money; he was +heir to a title, but that would have brought him no advantages in the +household." + +"You recovered. What became of him?" + +"I never learned. He seemed to fade away into thin air. I fear I was not +very much in love." + +"I wonder if all girls are like you--if they forget so easily?" + +"You have yourself declared that the majority have neither form nor +feature; perhaps they have no feeling. How do men feel about a broken +engagement?" + +"I can only speak for myself. There was a time when I felt that marriage +was the inevitable fate of all respectable people. Some one wanted me to +marry a certain some one else. I didn't seem to care much about it; but +my friend was one of those natural-born match-makers; she talked the +young lady up to me in such a shape that I almost fancied myself in love +and actually began to feel that I'd be doing her an injustice if I +permitted her to go on loving and longing for the rest of her days. So +one day I wrote her a proposal; it was the kind of proposal one might +decline without injuring a fellow's feelings in the least--and she did +it!" After a thoughtful pause he continued: + +"By Jove! But wasn't I immensely relieved when her letter came; such a +nice, dear, good letter it was, too, in which she assured me there had +evidently been a mistake somewhere, and nothing had been further from +her thoughts than the hope of marrying me. So she let me down most +beautifully----" + +"And offered to be a sister to you?" + +"Perhaps; I don't remember now; I always felt embarrassed after that +when her name was mentioned. I couldn't help thinking what an infernal +ass I'd made of myself." + +"It was all the fault of your friend." + +"Of course it was; I'd never have dreamed of proposing to her if I +hadn't been put up to it by the match-maker. Oh, what a lot of miserable +marriages are brought on in just this way! You see when I like a girl +ever so much, I seem to like her too well to marry her. I think it +would be mean of me to marry her." + +"Why?" + +"Because--because I'd get tired after a while; everybody does, sooner or +later,--everybody save your Mama and Eugene,--and then I'd say something +or do something I ought not to say or do, and I'd hate myself for it; or +she'd say something or do something that would make me hate her. We +might, of course, get over it and be very nice to one another; but we +could never be quite the same again. Wounds leave scars, and you can't +forget a scar--can you?" + +"You may scar too easily!" + +"I suppose I do, and that is the very best reason why I should avoid the +occasion of one." + +"So you have resolved never to marry?" + +"Oh, I've resolved it a thousand times, and yet, somehow, I'm forever +meeting some one a little out of the common; some one who takes me by +storm, as it were; some one who seems to me a kind of revelation, and +then I feel as if I must marry her whether or no; sometimes I fear I +shall wake up and find myself married in spite of myself--wouldn't that +be frightful?" + +"Frightful indeed--and then you'd have to get used to it, just as most +married people get used to it in the course of time. You know it's a +very matter-of-fact world we live in, and it takes very matter-of-fact +people to keep it in good running order." + +"Yes. But for these drudges, these hewers of wood and drawers of water, +that ideal pair yonder could not go on painting and embroidering things +of beauty with nothing but the butterflies to bother them." + +"Butterflies don't bother; they open new vistas of beauty, and they set +examples that it would do the world good to follow; the butterfly says, +'my mission is to be brilliant and jolly and to take no thought of the +morrow.'" + +"It's the thought of the morrow, Miss. Juno, that spoils today for +me,--that morrow--who is going to pay the rent of it? Who is going to +keep it in food and clothes?" + +"Paul, you have already lived and loved, where there is no rent to pay +and where the clothing worn is not worth mentioning; as for the food and +the drink in that delectable land, nature provides them both. I don't +see why you need to take thought of the morrow; all you have to do is to +take passage for some South Sea Island, and let the world go by." + +"But the price of the ticket, my friend; where is that to come from? To +be sure I'm only a bachelor, and have none but myself to consider. What +would I do if I had a wife and family to provide for?" + +"You'd do as most other fellows in the same predicament do; you'd +provide for them as well as you could; and if that wasn't sufficient, +you'd desert them, or blow your brains out and leave them to provide for +themselves." + +"An old bachelor is a rather comfortable old party. I'm satisfied with +my manifest destiny; but I'm rather sorry for old maids--aren't you?" + +"That depends; of course everything in life depends; some of the most +beautiful, the most blessed, the most bountifully happy women I have +ever known were old maids; I propose to be one myself--if I live long +enough!" + +After an interlude, during which the bees boomed among the +honey-blossoms, the birds caroled on the boughs, and the two artists +laughed softly as they chatted at their delightful work, Paul resumed: + +"Do you know, Miss. Juno, this anti-climax strikes me as being +exceedingly funny? When I met you the other day, I felt as if I'd met my +fate. I know well enough that I'd felt that way often before, and +promptly recovered from the attack. I certainly never felt it in the +same degree until I came face to face with you. I was never quite so +fairly and squarely face to face with any one before. I came here +because I could not help myself. I simply had to come, and to come at +once. I was resolved to propose to you and to marry you without a cent, +if you'd let me. I didn't expect that you'd let me, but I felt it my +duty to find out. I'm dead sure that I was very much in love with +you--and I am now; but somehow it isn't that spoony sort of love that +makes a man unwholesome and sometimes drives him to drink or to suicide. +I suppose I love you too well to want to marry you; but God knows how +glad I am that we have met, and I hope that we shall never really part +again." + +"Paul!"--Miss. Juno's rather too pallid cheeks were slightly tinged with +rose; she seemed more than ever to belong to that fair garden, to have +become a part of it, in fact;--"Paul," said she, earnestly enough, +"you're an awfully good fellow, and I like you so much; I shall always +like you; but if you had been fool enough to propose to me I should have +despised you. Shake!" And she extended a most shapely hand that clasped +his warmly and firmly. While he still held it without restraint, he +added: + +"Why I like you so much is because you are unlike other girls; that is +to say, you're perfectly natural." + +"Most people who think me unlike other girls, think me unnatural for +that reason. It is hard to be natural, isn't it?" + +"Why, no, I think it is the easiest thing in the world to be natural. +I'm as natural as I can be, or as anybody can be." + +"And yet I've heard you pronounced a bundle of affectations." + +"I know that--it's been said in my hearing, but I don't care in the +least; it is natural for the perfectly natural person _not_ to care in +the least." + +"I think, perhaps, it is easier for boys to be natural, than for girls," +said Miss. Juno. + +"Yes, boys are naturally more natural," replied Paul with much +confidence. + +Miss. Juno smiled an amused smile. + +Paul resumed--"I hardly ever knew a girl who didn't wish herself a boy. +Did you ever see a boy who wanted to be a girl?" + +"I've seen some who ought to have been girls--and who would have made +very droll girls. I know an old gentleman who used to bewail the +degeneracy of the age and exclaim in despair, 'Boys will be girls!'" +laughed Miss. Juno. + +"Horrible thought! But why is it that girlish boys are so unpleasant +while tom-boys are delightful?" + +"I don't know," replied she, "unless the girlish boy has lost the charm +of his sex, that is manliness; and the tom-boy has lost the defect of +hers--a kind of selfish dependence." + +"I'm sure the girls like you, don't they?'' he added. + +"Not always; and there are lots of girls I can't endure!" + +"I've noticed that women who are most admired by women are seldom +popular with men; and that the women the men go wild over are little +appreciated by their own sex," said Paul. + +"Yes, I've noticed that; as for myself my best friends are masculine; +but when I was away at boarding-school my chum, who was immensely +popular, used to call me Jack!" + +"How awfully jolly; may I call you 'Jack' and will you be my chum?" + +"Of course I will; but what idiots the world would think us." + +"Who cares?" cried he defiantly. "There are millions of fellows this +very moment who would give their all for such a pal as you are--Jack!" + +There was a fluttering among the butterflies; the artists had risen and +were standing waist-deep in the garden of gracious things; they were +coming to Paul and Miss. Juno, and in amusing pantomime announcing that +pangs of hunger were compelling their return to the cottage; the truth +is, it was long past the lunch hour--and a large music-box which had +been set in motion when the light repast was laid had failed to catch +the ear with its tinkling aria. + +All four of the occupants of the garden turned leisurely toward the +cottage. Miss. Juno had rested her hand on Paul's shoulder and said in a +delightfully confidential way: "Let it be a secret that we are chums, +dear boy--the world is such an idiot." + +"All right, Jack," whispered Paul, trying to hug himself in delight, +'Little secrets are cozy.'" + +And in the scent of the roses it was duly embalmed. + + +III + +Happy is the man who is without encumbrances--that that is if he knows +how to be happy. Whenever Paul Clitheroe found the burden of the day +becoming oppressive he cast it off, and sought solace in a change of +scene. He could always, or almost always, do this at a moment's notice. +It chanced, upon a certain occasion, when a little community of artists +were celebrating the sale of a great picture--the masterpiece of one of +their number--that word was sent to Paul to join their feast. He found +the large studio where several of them worked intermittently, highly +decorated; a table was spread in a manner to have awakened an appetite +even upon the palate of the surfeited; there were music and dancing, and +bacchanalian revels that went on and on from night to day and on to +night again. It was a veritable feast of lanterns, and not until the +last one had burned to the socket and the wine-vats were empty and the +studio strewn with unrecognizable debris and permeated with odors stale, +flat and unprofitable, did the revels cease. Paul came to dine; he +remained three days; he had not yet worn out his welcome, but he had +resolved, as was his wont at intervals, to withdraw from the world, and +so he returned to the Eyrie,--which was ever his initial step toward the +accomplishment of the longed-for end. + +Not very many days later Paul received the breeziest of letters; it was +one of a series of racy rhapsodies that came to him bearing the Santa +Rosa postmark. They were such letters as a fellow might write to a +college chum, but with no line that could have brought a blush to the +cheek of modesty--not that the college chum is necessarily given to the +inditing of such epistles. These letters were signed "Jack." + +"Jack" wrote to say how the world was all in bloom and the rose-garden +one bewildering maze of blossoms; how Mama was still embroidering from +nature in the midst thereof, crowned with a wreath of butterflies and +with one uncommonly large one perched upon her Psyche shoulder and +fanning her cheek with its brilliantly dyed wing; how Eugene was +reveling in his art, painting lovely pictures of the old Spanish +Missions with shadowy outlines of the ghostly fathers, long since +departed, haunting the dismantled cloisters; how the air was like the +breath of heaven, and the twilight unspeakably pathetic, and they were +all three constantly reminded of Italy and forever talking of Rome and +the Campagna, and Venice, and imagining themselves at home again and +Paul with them, for they had resolved that he was quite out of his +element in California; they had sworn he must be rescued; he must return +with them to Italy and that right early. He must wind up his affairs and +set his house in order at once and forever; he should never go back to +it again, but live a new life and a gentler life in that oldest and most +gentle of lands; they simply _must_ take him with them and seat him by +the shore of the Venetian Sea, where he could enjoy his melancholy, if +he must be melancholy, and find himself for the first time provided with +a suitable background. This letter came to him inlaid with rose petals; +they showered upon him in all their fragrance as he read the inspiring +pages and, since "Jack" with quite a martial air had issued a mandate +which ran as follows, "Order No. 19--Paul Clitheroe will, upon receipt +of this, report immediately at headquarters at Santa Rosa," he placed +the key of his outer door in his pocket and straightway departed without +more ado. + + * * * * * + +They swung in individual hammocks, Paul and "Jack," within the +rose-screened veranda. The conjugal affinities, Violet and Eugene, were +lost to the world in the depths of the rose-garden beyond sight and +hearing. + +Said Jack, resuming a rambling conversation which had been interrupted +by the noisy passage of a bee, "That particular bee reminds me of some +people who fret over their work, and who make others who are seeking +rest, extremely uncomfortable." + +Paul was thoughtful for a few moments and then remarked: "And yet it is +a pleasant work he is engaged in, and his days are passed in the fairest +fields; he evidently enjoys his trade even if he does seem to bustle +about it. I can excuse the buzz and the hum in him, when I can't always +in the human tribes." + +"If you knew what he was saying just now, perhaps you'd find him as +disagreeable as the man who is condemned to earn his bread in the sweat +of his brow, and makes more or less of a row about it." + +"Very likely, Jack, but these bees are born with business instincts, and +they can't enjoy loafing; they don't know how to be idle. Being as busy +as a busy bee must be being very busy!" + +"There is the hum of the hive in that phrase, old boy! I'm sure you've +been working up to it all along. Come now, confess, you've had that in +hand for some little time." + +"Well, what if I have? That is what writers do, and they have to do it. +How else can they make their dialogue in the least attractive? Did you +ever write a story, Jack?" + +"No, of course not; how perfectly absurd!" + +"Not in the least absurd. You've been reading novels ever since you were +born. You've the knack of the thing, the telling of a story, the +developing of a plot, the final wind-up of the whole concern, right at +your tongue's end." + +"Paul, you're an idiot." + +"Idiot, Jack? I'm nothing of the sort and I can prove what I've just +been saying to you about yourself. Now, listen and don't interrupt me +until I've said my say." + +Paul caught hold of a branch of vine close at hand and set his hammock +swinging slowly. Miss. Juno settled herself more comfortably in hers, +and seemed much interested and amused. + +"Now," said Paul, with a comical air of importance--"now, any one who +has anything at his tongue's end, has it, or _can_, just as well as not, +have it at his finger's end. If you can tell a story well, and you can, +Jack, you know you can, you can write it just as well. You have only to +tell it with your pen instead of with your lips; and if you will only +write it exactly as you speak it, so long as your verbal version is a +good one, your pen version is bound to be equally as good; moreover, it +seems to me that in this way one is likely to adopt the most natural +style, which is, of course, the best of all styles. Now what do you say +to that?" + +"Oh, nothing," after a little pause--"however I doubt that any one, male +or female, can take up pen for the first time and tell a tale like a +practised writer." + +"Of course not. The practised writer has a style of his own, a +conventional narrative style which may be very far from nature. People +in books very seldom talk as they do in real life. When people in books +begin to talk like human beings the reader thinks the dialogue either +commonplace or mildly realistic, and votes it a bore." + +"Then why try to write as one talks? Why not cultivate the conventional +style of the practised writer?" + +"Why talk commonplaces?" cried Paul a little tartly. "Of course most +people must do so if they talk at all, and they are usually the people +who talk all the time. But I have known people whose ordinary +conversation was extraordinary, and worth putting down in a book--every +word of it." + +"In my experience," said Miss. Juno, "people who talk like books are a +burden." + +"They needn't talk like the conventional book, I tell you. Let them have +something to say and say it cleverly--that is the kind of conversation +to make books of." + +"What if all that we've been saying here, under the rose, as it were, +were printed just as we've said it?" + +"What if it were? It would at least be natural, and we've been saying +something of interest to each other; why should it not interest a third +party?" + +Miss. Juno smiled and rejoined, "I am not a confirmed eavesdropper, but +I often find myself so situated that I cannot avoid overhearing what +other people are saying to one another; it is seldom that, under such +circumstances, I hear anything that interests me." + +"Yes, but if you knew the true story of those very people, all that they +may be saying in your hearing would no doubt possess an interest, +inasmuch as it would serve to develop their history." + +"Our conversation is growing a little thin, Paul, don't you think so? We +couldn't put all this into a book." + +"If it helped to give a clue to our character and our motives, we could. +The thing is to be interesting: if we are interesting, in ourselves, by +reason of our original charm or our unconventionality, almost anything +we might say or do ought to interest others. Conventional people are +never interesting." + +"Yet the majority of mankind is conventional to a degree; the +conventionals help to fill up; their habitual love of conventionality, +or their fear of the unconventional, is what keeps them in their place. +This is very fortunate. On the other hand, a world full of people too +clever to be kept in their proper spheres, would be simply intolerable. +But there is no danger of this!" + +"Yes, you are right," said Paul after a moment's pause;--"you are +interesting, and that is why I like you so well." + +"You mean that I am unconventional?" + +"Exactly. And, as I said before, that is why I'm so awfully fond of you. +By Jove, I'm so glad I'm not in love with you, Jack." + +"So am I, old boy; I couldn't put up with that at all; you'd have to go +by the next train, you know; you would, really. And yet, if we are to +write a novel apiece we shall be obliged to put love into it; love with +a very large L." + +"No we wouldn't; I'm sure we wouldn't." + +Miss. Juno shook her golden locks in doubt--Paul went on +persistently:--"I'm dead sure we wouldn't; and to prove it, some day +I'll write a story without its pair of lovers; everybody shall be more +or less spoony--but nobody shall be really in love." + +"It wouldn't be a story, Paul." + +"It would be a history, or a fragment of a history, a glimpse of a life +at any rate, and that is as much as we ever get of the lives of those +around us. Why can't I tell you the story of one fellow--of myself for +example; how one day I met this person, and the next day I met that +person, and next week some one else comes on to the stage, and struts +his little hour and departs. I'm not trying to give my audience, my +readers, any knowledge of that other fellow. My reader must see for +himself how each of those fellows in his own way has influenced me. The +story is my story, a study of myself, nothing more or less. If the +reader don't like me he may lay me down in my cloth or paper cover, and +have nothing more to do with me. If I'm not a hero, perhaps it's not so +much my fault as my misfortune. That people are interested in me, and +show it in a thousand different ways, assures me that _my_ story, not +the story of those with whom I'm thrown in contact, is what interests +them. It's a narrow-gauge, single-track story, but it runs through a +delightful bit of country, and if my reader wants to look out of my +windows and see things as I see them and find out how they influence me +he is welcome; if he doesn't, he may get off at the very next station +and change cars for Elsewhere." + +"I shall have love in my story," said Miss. Juno, with an amusing touch +of sentiment that on her lips sounded like polite comedy. + +"You may have all the love you like, and appeal to the same old +novel-reader who has been reading the same sort of love story for the +last hundred years, and when you've finished your work and your reader +has stood by you to the sweet or bitter end, no one will be any the +wiser or better. You've taught nothing, you've untaught nothing----and +there you are!" + +"Oh! A young man with a mission! Do you propose to revolutionize?" + +"No; revolutions only roil the water. You might as well try to make +water flow up-hill as to really revolutionize anything. I'd beautify the +banks of the stream, and round the sharp turns in it, and weed it out, +and sow water-lilies, and set the white swan with her snow-flecked +breast afloat. That's what I'd do!" + +"That's the art of the landscape gardener; I don't clearly see how it is +of benefit to the novelist, Paul! Now, honestly, is it?" + +"You don't catch my meaning, Jack; girls are deuced dull, you know,--I +mean obtuse." Miss. Juno flushed. "I wasn't referring to the novel; I +was saying that instead of writing my all in a vain effort to +revolutionize anything in particular, I'd try to get all the good I +could out of the existing evil, and make the best of it. But let's not +talk in this vein any longer; I hate argument. Argument is nothing but a +logical or illogical set-to; begin it as politely as you please, it is +not long before both parties throw aside their gloves and go in with +naked and bloody fists; one of the two gets knocked out, but he hasn't +been convinced of anything in particular; he was not in condition, that +is all; better luck next time." + +"Have you the tobacco, Paul?" asked Miss Juno, extending her hand. The +tobacco was silently passed from one hammock to the other; each rolled a +cigarette, and lit it. Paul blew a great smoke ring into the air; his +companion blew a lesser one that shot rapidly after the larger halo, and +the two were speedily blended in a pretty vapor wraith. + +"That's the ghost of an argument, Jack," said Paul, glancing above. He +resumed: "What I was about to say when I was interrupted"--this was his +pet joke; he knew well enough that he had been monopolizing the +conversation of the morning--"what I was about to say was this: my novel +shall be full of love, but you won't know that it is love--I mean the +every-day love of the every-day people. In my book everybody is going to +love everybody else--or almost everybody else; if there is any sort of a +misunderstanding it sha'n't matter much. I hate rows; I believe in the +truest and the fondest fellowship. What is true love? It is bosom +friendship; that is the purest passion of love. It is the only love that +lasts." + +There was a silence for the space of some minutes; Paul and Miss. Juno +were quietly, dreamily smoking. Without, among the roses, there was the +boom of bees; the carol of birds, the flutter of balancing butterflies. +Nature was very soothing, she was in one of her sweetest moods. The two +friends were growing drowsy. Miss. Juno, if she at times betrayed a +feminine fondness for argument, was certainly in no haste to provoke +Paul to a further discussion of the quality of love or friendship; +presently she began rather languidly: + +"You were saying I ought to write, and that you believe I can, if I will +only try. I'm going to try; I've been thinking of something that +happened within my knowledge; perhaps I can make a magazine sketch of +it." + +"Oh, please write it, Jack! Write it, and send the manuscript to me, +that I may place it for you; will you? Promise me you will!" The boy was +quite enthusiastic, and his undisguised pleasure in the prospect of +seeing something from the pen of his pal--as he loved to call Miss. +Juno--seemed to awaken a responsive echo in her heart. + +"I will, Paul; I promise you!"--and the two struck hands on it. + + +IV + +When Paul returned to the Eyrie, it had been decided that Miss. Juno was +to at once begin her first contribution to periodic literature. She had +found her plot; she had only to tell her story in her own way, just as +if she were recounting it to Paul. Indeed, at his suggestion, she had +promised to sit with pen in hand and address him as if he were actually +present. In this way he hoped she would drop into the narrative style +natural to her, and so attractive to her listeners. + +As for Paul Clitheroe, he was to make inquiry among his editorial +friends in the Misty City, and see if he might not effect some +satisfactory arrangement with one or another of them, whereby he would +be placed in a position enabling him to go abroad in the course of a few +weeks, and remain abroad indefinitely. He would make Venice his +headquarters; he would have the constant society of his friends; the +fellowship of Jack; together, after the joint literary labors of the +day, they would stem the sluggish tide of the darksome canals and +exchange sentiment and cigarette smoke in mutual delight. Paul was to +write a weekly or a semi-monthly letter to the journal employing him as +a special correspondent. At intervals, in the company of his friends, or +alone, he would set forth upon one of those charming excursions so +fruitful of picturesque experience, and return to his lodgings on the +Schiavoni, to work them up into magazine articles; these would later, of +course, get into book form; from the book would come increased +reputation, a larger source of revenue, and the contentment of success +which he so longed for, so often thought he had found, and so seldom +enjoyed for any length of time. + +All this was to be arranged,--or rather the means to which all this was +the delightful end--was to be settled as soon as possible. Miss. Juno, +having finished her story, was to send word to Paul and he was to hie +him to the Rose Garden; thereafter at an ideal dinner, elaborated in +honor of the occasion, Eugene was to read the maiden effort, while the +author, sustained by the sympathetic presence of her admiring Mama and +her devoted Paul, awaited the verdict. + +This was to be the test--a trying one for Miss Juno. As for Paul, he +felt quite patriarchal, and yet, so genuine and so deep was his interest +in the future of his protegee, that he was already showing symptoms of +anxiety. + +The article having been sent to the editor of the first magazine in the +land, the family would be ready to fold its aesthetic tent and depart; +Paul, of course, accompanying them. + +It was a happy thought; visions of Venice; the moonlit lagoon; the +reflected lamps plunging their tongues of flame into the sea; the humid +air, the almost breathless silence, broken at intervals by the baying of +deep-mouthed bells; the splash of oars; the soft tripping measure of +human voices and the refrain of the gondoliers; Jack by his side--Jack +now in her element, with the maroon fez of the distinguished howadji +tilted upon the back of her handsome head, her shapely finger-nails +stained with henna, her wrists weighed down with their scores of +tinkling bangles! Could anything be jollier? + +Paul gave himself up to the full enjoyment of this dream. Already he +seemed to have overcome every obstacle, and to be reveling in the +subdued but sensuous joys of the Adriatic queen. Sometimes he had fled +in spirit to the sweet seclusion of the cloistral life at San Lazaro. +Byron did it before him;--the plump, the soft-voiced, mild-visaged +little Arminians will tell you all about that, and take immense pleasure +in the telling of it. Paul had also known a fellow-writer who had +emulated Byron, and had even distanced the Byron record in one respect +at least--he had outstayed his lordship at San Lazaro! + +Sometimes Paul turned hermit, in imagination and dwelt alone upon the +long sands of the melancholy Lido; not seeing Jack, or anybody, save the +waiter at the neighboring restaurant, for days and days together. It was +immensely diverting, this dream-life that Paul led in far distant +Venice. It was just the life he loved, the ideal life, and it wasn't +costing him a cent--no, not a _soldo_, to speak more in the Venetian +manner. + +While he was looking forward to the life to come, he had hardly time to +perfect his arrangements for a realization of it. He was to pack +everything and store it in a bonded warehouse, where it should remain +until he had taken root abroad. Then he would send for it and settle in +the spot he loved best of all, and there write and dream and drink the +wine of the country, while the Angelus bells ringing thrice a day awoke +him to a realizing sense of the fairy-like flight of time just as they +have been doing for ages past, and, let us hope, as they will continue +to do forever and forever. + +One day he stopped dreaming of Italy, and resolved to secure his +engagement as a correspondent. Miss. Juno had written him that her +sketch was nearly finished; that he must hold himself in readiness to +answer her summons at a moment's notice. The season was advancing; no +time was to be lost, etc. Paul started at once for the office of his +favorite journal; his interview was not entirely satisfactory. Editors, +one and all, as he called upon them in succession, didn't seem +especially anxious to send the young man abroad for an indefinite +period; the salary requested seemed exorbitant. They each made a +proposition; all said: "This is the best I can do at present; go to the +other offices, and if you receive a better offer we advise you to take +it." This seemed reasonable enough, but as their best rate was fifteen +dollars for one letter a week he feared that even the highly respectable +second-class accommodations of all sorts to which he must confine +himself would be beyond his means. + +Was he losing interest in the scheme which had afforded him so many +hours of sweet, if not solid, satisfaction? No, not exactly. Poverty was +more picturesque abroad than in his prosaic native land. His song was +not quite so joyous, that was all; he would go to Italy; he would take a +smaller room; he would eat at the Trattoria of the people; he would make +studies of the peasant, the _contadini_. Jack had written, "There is pie +in Venice when we are there; Mama knows how to make pie; pie cannot be +purchased elsewhere. Love is the price thereof!" And pie is very +filling. Yes, he would go to Europe on fifteen dollars per week and find +paradise in the bright particular Venetian Pie! + + +V + +After many days a great change came to pass. Everybody knew that Paul +Clitheroe had disappeared without so much as a "good-by" to his most +intimate friends. Curiosity was excited for a little while, but for a +little while only. Soon he was forgotten, or remembered by no one save +those who had known and loved him and who at intervals regretted him. + +And Miss. Juno? Ah, Miss. Juno, the joy of Paul's young dreams! Having +been launched successfully at his hands, and hoping in her brave, +off-hand way to be of service to him, she continued to write as much for +his sake as for her own; she knew it would please him beyond compare +were she to achieve a pronounced literary success. He had urged her to +write a novel. She had lightly laughed him to scorn--and had kept +turning in her mind the possible plot for a tale. One day it suddenly +took shape; the whole thing seemed to her perfectly plain sailing; if +Clitheroe had launched her upon that venturesome sea, she had suddenly +found herself equipped and able to sail without the aid of any one. + +She had written to Paul of her joy in this new discovery. Before her +loomed the misty outlines of fair far islands; she was about to set +forth to people these. Oh, the joy of that! The unspeakable joy of it! +She spread all sail on this voyage of discovery--she asked for nothing +more save the prayers of her old comrade. She longed to have him near +her so that together they might discuss the situations in her story, one +after another. If he were only in Venice they would meet daily over +their dinner, and after dinner she would read to him what she had +written since they last met; then they would go in a gondola for a +moonlight cruise; of course it was always moonlight in Venice! Would +this not be delightful and just as an all-wise Providence meant it +should be? Paul had read something like this in the letters which she +used to write him when he was divided against himself; when he began to +feel himself sinking, without a hand to help him. Venice was out of the +question then; it were vain for him to even dream of it. + +So time went on; Miss. Juno became a slave of the lamp; her work grew +marvelously under her pen. Her little people led her a merry chase; they +whispered in her ears night and day; she got no rest of them--but rose +again and again to put down the clever things they said, and so, almost +before she knew it, her novel had grown into three fine English volumes +with inch-broad margins, half-inch spacings, large type and heavy paper. +She was amazed to find how important her work had become. + +Fortune favored her. She found a publisher who was ready to bring out +her book at once; two sets of proofs were forwarded to her; these she +corrected with deep delight, returning one to her London publisher and +sending one to America, where another publisher was ready to issue the +work simultaneously with the English print. + +It made its appearance under a pen-name in England--anonymously in +America. What curiosity it awakened may be judged by the instantaneous +success of the work in both countries: Tauchnitz at once added it to his +fascinating list; the French and German translators negotiated for the +right to run it as a serial in Paris and Berlin journals. Considerable +curiosity was awakened concerning the identity of the authorship, and +the personal paragraphers made a thousand conjectures, all of which +helped the sale of the novel immensely and amused Miss. Juno and her +confidants beyond expression. + +All this was known to Clitheroe before he had reached the climax that +forced him to the wall. He had written to Miss. Juno; and he had called +her "Jack" as of old, but he felt and she realized that he felt that the +conditions were changed. The atmosphere of the rose-garden was gone +forever; the hopes and aspirations that were so easy and so airy then, +had folded their wings like bruised butterflies or faded like the +flowers. She resolved to wait until he had recovered his senses and then +perhaps he would come to Venice and to them--which in her estimation +amounted to one and the same thing. + +She wrote to him no more; he had not written her for weeks, save only +the few lines of congratulation on the success of her novel, and to +thank her for the author's copy she had sent him: the three-volume +London edition with a fond inscription on the flyleaf--a line in each +volume. This was the end of all that. + +Once more she wrote, but not to Clitheroe; she wrote to a friend she had +known when she was in the far West, one who knew Paul well and was +always eager for news of him. + +The letter, or a part of it, ran as follows: + +"Of course such weather as this is not to be shut out-of-doors; we feed +on it; we drink it in; we bathe in it, body and soul. Ah, my friend, +know a June in Venice before you die! Don't dare to die until you have +become saturated with the aerial-aquatic beauty of this Divine Sea-City! + +"Oh, I was about to tell you something when the charms of this Syren +made me half-delirious and of course I forgot all else in life--I always +do so. Well, as we leave in a few days for the delectable Dolonites, we +are making our rounds of P. P. C.'s,--that we are revisiting every nook +and corner in the lagoon so dear to us. We invariably do this; it is the +most delicious leave-taking imaginable. If I were only Niobe I'd water +these shores with tears--I'm sure I would; but you know I never weep; I +never did; I don't know how; there is not a drop of brine in my whole +composition. + +"Dear me! how I do rattle on--but you know my moods and will make due +allowance for what might strike the cold, unfeeling world as being +garrulity. + +"We had resolved to visit that most enchanting of all Italian shrines, +San Francisco del Deserto. We had not been there for an age; you know it +is rather a long pull over, and one waits for the most perfect hour when +one ventures upon the outskirts of the lagoon. + +"Oh, the unspeakable loveliness of that perfect day! The mellowing haze +that veiled the water; the heavenly blue of the sea, a mirror of the +sky, and floating in between the two, so that one could not be quite +sure whether it slumbered in the lap of the sea or hung upon the bosom +of the sky, that ideal summer island--San Francisco del Deserto. + +"You know it is only a few acres in extent--not more than six, I fancy, +and four-fifths of it are walled about with walls that stand knee-deep +in sea-grasses. Along, and above it, are thrust the tapering tops of +those highly decorative cypresses without which Italy would not be +herself at all. There is such a monastery there--an ideal one, with +cloister, and sundial, and marble-curbed well, and all that; at least +so I am told; we poor feminine creatures are not permitted to cross the +thresholds of these Holy Houses. This reminds me of a remark I heard +made by a very clever woman who wished to have a glimpse of the interior +of that impossible Monte Casino on the mountain top between Rome and +Naples. Of course she was refused admission; she turned upon the poor +Benedictine, who was only obeying orders--it is a rule of the house, you +know--and said, 'Why do you refuse me admission to this shrine? Is it +because I am of the same sex as the mother of your God?' But she didn't +get in for all that. Neither have I crossed the threshold of San +Francisco del Deserto, but I have wandered upon the green in front of +the little chapel; and sat under the trees in contemplation of the sea +and wished--yes, really and truly wished--that I were a barefooted +Franciscan friar with nothing to do but look picturesque in such a +terrestrial paradise. + +"What do you think happened when we were there the other day? Now at +last I am coming to it. We were all upon the Campo in front of the +chapel--Violet, Eugene and I; the Angelus had just rung; it was the hour +of all hours in one's lifetime; the deepening twilight--we had the moon +to light us on our homeward way--the inexpressible loveliness of the +atmosphere, the unutterable peace, the unspeakable serenity--the repose +in nature--I cannot begin to express myself! + +"Out of the chapel came the Father Superior. He knows us very well, for +we have often visited the island; he always offers us some refreshment, +a cup of mass wine, or a dish of fruit, and so he did on this occasion. +We were in no hurry to leave the shore and so accepted his invitation to +be seated under the trees while he ordered the repast. + +"Presently he returned and was shortly followed by a young friar whom we +had never seen before; there are not many of them there--a dozen +perhaps--and their faces are more or less familiar to us, for even we +poor women may kneel without the gratings in their little chapel, and so +we have learned to know the faces we have seen there in the choir. But +this one was quite new to us and so striking; his eyes were ever raised; +he offered us a dish of bread and olives, while the abbot poured our +wine, and the very moment we had served ourselves he quietly withdrew. + +"I could think of but one thing--indeed we all thought of it at the same +moment--'tis Browning's-- + + "'What's become of Waring + Since he gave us all the slip?'" + +"You know the lines well enough. Why did we think of it?--because we +were all startled, so startled that the abbot who usually sees us to our +gondola, made his abrupt adieus, on some slight pretext, and the door of +the monastery was bolted fast. + +"Oh, me! How long it takes to tell a little tale--to be sure! We knew +that face, the face of the young friar; we knew the hand--it was +unmistakable; we have all agreed upon it and are ready to swear to it on +our oaths! That novice was none other than Paul Clitheroe!" + + + + +A LITTLE SAVAGE GENTLEMAN + +BY + +ISOBEL STRONG + +Reprinted from _Scribner's Magazine_ by permission + + +"IF YOU want a child as badly as all that," my brother said, "why not +adopt a chief's son, some one who is handsome and well-born, and will be +a credit to you, instead of crying your eyes out over a little common +brat who is an ungrateful cub, and ugly into the bargain?" + +I wasn't particularly fond of the "common brat," but I had grown used to +tending him, bandaging his miserable little foot and trying to make his +lot easier to bear; and he had been spirited away. One may live long in +Samoa without understanding the whys and wherefores. His mother may have +been jealous of my care of the child and carried him away in the night; +or the clan to which he belonged may have sent for him, though his +reputed father was our assistant cook. At any rate, he had +gone--departed as completely and entirely as though he had vanished into +thin air, and I, sitting on the steps of the veranda, gave way to tears. + +Two days later, as I hastened across the courtyard, I turned the corner +suddenly, nearly falling over a small Samoan boy, who stood erect in a +gallant pose before the house, leaning upon a long stick of sugar-cane, +as though it were a spear. + +"Who are you?" I asked, in the native language. + +"I am your son," was the surprising reply. + +"And what is your name?" + +"Pola," he said. "Pola, of Tanugamanono, and my mother is the white +chief lady, Teuila of Vailima." + +He was a beautiful creature, of an even tint of light bronze-brown; his +slender body reflected the polish of scented cocoanut oil, the tiny +garment he called his _lava-lava_ fastened at the waist was coquettishly +kilted above one knee. He wore a necklace of scarlet berries across his +shoulders, and a bright red hibiscus flower stuck behind his ear. On his +round, smooth cheek a single rose-leaf hid the dimple. His large black +eyes looked up at me with an expression of terror, overcome by pure +physical courage. From the top of his curly head to the soles of his +high-arched slender foot he looked _tama'alii_--high-bred. To all my +inquiries he answered in purest high-chief Samoan that he was my son. + +My brother came to the rescue with explanations. Taking pity on me, he +had gone to our village (as we called Tanugamanono) and adopted the +chief's second son in my name, and here he was come to present himself +in person. + +I shook hands with him, a ceremony he performed very gracefully with +great dignity. Then he offered me the six feet of sugar-cane, with the +remark that it was a small, trifling gift, unworthy of my high-chief +notice. I accepted it with a show of great joy and appreciation, though +by a turn of the head one could see acres of sugar-cane growing on the +other side of the river. + +There was an element of embarrassment in the possession of this +charming creature. I could not speak the Samoan language very well at +that time, and saw, by his vague but polite smile, that much of my +conversation was incomprehensible to him. His language to me was so +extremely "high-chief" that I couldn't understand more than three words +in a sentence. What made the situation still more poignant was that look +of repressed fear glinting in the depths of his black velvety eyes. + +I took him by the hand (that trembled slightly in mine, though he walked +boldly along with me) and led him about the house, thinking the sight of +all the wonders of Vailima might divert his mind. When I threw open the +door of the hall, with its pictures and statues, waxed floor and glitter +of silver on the sideboard, Pola made the regulation quotation from +Scripture, "And behold the half has not been told me." + +He went quite close to the tiger-skin, with the glass eyes and big +teeth. "It is not living?" he asked, and when I assured him it was dead +he remarked that it was a large pussy, and then added, gravely, that he +supposed the forests of London were filled with these animals. + +He held my hand quite tightly going up the stairs, and I realized then +that he could never have mounted a staircase before. Indeed, everything +in the house, even chairs and tables, books and pictures, were new and +strange to this little savage gentleman. + +I took him to my room, where I had a number of letters to write. He sat +on the floor at my feet very obediently while I went on with my work. +Looking down a few minutes later I saw that he had fallen asleep, lying +on a while rug in a childish, graceful attitude, and I realized again +his wild beauty and charm. + +Late in the day, as it began to grow dark, I asked Pola if he did not +want to go home. + +"No, Teuila," he answered, bravely. + +"But you will be my boy just the same," I explained. "Only you see Tumau +(his real mother) will be lonely at first. So you can sleep at the +village and come and see me during the day." + +His eyes lit up with that and the first smile of the day overspread his +face, showing the whitest teeth imaginable. + +It was not long before he was perfectly at home in Vailima. He would +arrive in the morning early, attended by a serving-man of his family, +who walked meekly in the young chief's footsteps, carrying the usual +gift for me. Sometimes it was sugar-cane, or a wreath woven by the +village girls, or a single fish wrapped in a piece of banana-leaf, or a +few fresh water prawns, or even a bunch of wayside flowers; my little +son seldom came empty-handed. + +It was Pola who really taught me the Samoan language. Ordinarily the +natives cannot simplify their remarks for foreigners, but Pola invented +a sort of Samoan baby-talk for me; sometimes, if I could not understand, +he would shake me with his fierce little brown hands, crying, "Stupid, +stupid!" But generally he was extremely patient with me, trying a +sentence in half a dozen different ways, with his bright eyes fixed +eagerly on my face, and when the sense of what he said dawned upon me +and I repeated it to prove that I understood, his own countenance would +light up with an expression of absolute pride and triumph. "Good!" he +would say, approvingly. "Great is your high-chief wisdom!" + +Once we spent a happy afternoon together in the forest picking up queer +land-shells, bright berries and curious flowers, while Pola dug up a +number of plants by the roots. I asked him the next day what he had done +with the beautiful red flowers. His reply was beyond me, so I shook my +head. He looked at me anxiously for a moment with that worried +expression that so often crossed his face in conversation with me, and, +patting the floor, scraped up an imaginary hole, "They sit down in the +dusty," he said in baby Samoan. "Where?" I asked. "In front of Tumau." +And then I understood that he had planted them in the ground before his +mother's house. + +Another time he came up all laughter and excitement to tell of an +adventure. + +"Your brother," he said, "the high-chief Loia, he of the four eyes +(eye-glasses), came riding by the village as I was walking up to +Vailima. He offered me a ride on his chief-horse and gave me his +chief-hand. I put my foot on the stirrup, and just as I jumped the horse +shied, and, as I had hold of the high-chief Loia, we both fell off into +the road _palasi_." + +"Yes," I said, "you both fell off. That was very funny." + +"_Palasi_!" he reiterated. + +But here I looked doubtful. Pola repeated his word several times as +though the very sound ought to convey some idea to my bemuddled brain, +and then a bright idea struck him. I heard his bare feet pattering +swiftly down the stairs. He came flying back, still laughing, and laid a +heavy dictionary in my lap. I hastily turned the leaves, Pola questing +in each one like an excited little dog, till I found the definition of +his word, "to fall squash like a ripe fruit on the ground." + +"_Palasi_!" he cried, triumphantly, when he saw I understood, making a +gesture downward with both hands, the while laughing heartily. "We both +fell off _palasi_!" + +It was through Pola that I learned all the news of Tanugamanono. He +would curl up on the floor at my feet as I sat in my room sewing, and +pour forth an endless stream of village gossip. How Mata, the native +parson, had whipped his daughter for going to a picnic on Sunday and +drinking a glass of beer. + +"Her father went whack! whack!" Pola illustrated the scene with gusto, +"and Maua cried, ah! ah! But the village says Mata is right, for we must +not let the white man's evil come near us." + +"Evil?" I said; "what evil?" + +"Drink," said Pola, solemnly. + +Then he told how "the ladies of Tanugamanono" bought a pig of Mr. B., a +trader, each contributing a dollar until forty dollars were collected. +There was to be a grand feast among the ladies on account of the +choosing of a maid or _taupo_, the young girl who represents the village +on all state occasions. When the pig came it turned out to be an old +boar, so tough and rank it could not be eaten. The ladies were much +ashamed before their guests, and asked the white man for another pig, +but he only laughed at them. He had their money, so he did not care, +"That was very, very bad of him," I exclaimed, indignantly. + +"It is the way of white people," said Pola, philosophically. + +It was through my little chief that we learned of a bit of fine +hospitality. It seems that pigs were scarce in the village, so each +house-chief pledged himself to refrain from killing one of them for six +months. Any one breaking this rule agreed to give over his house to be +looted by the village. + +Pola came up rather late one morning, and told me, hilariously, of the +fun they had had looting Tupuola's house. + +"But Tupuola is a friend of ours," I said. "I don't like to hear of all +his belongings being scattered." + +"It is all right," Pola explained. "Tupuola said to the village, 'Come +and loot. I have broken the law and I will pay the forfeit.'" + +"How did he break the law?" I asked. + +"When the high-chief Loia, your brother of the four eyes, stopped the +night at Tanugamanono, on his way to the shark fishing, he stayed with +Tupuola, so of course it was chiefly to kill a pig in his honor." + +"But it was against the law. My brother would not have liked it, and +Tupuola must have felt badly to know his house was to be looted." + +"He would have felt worse," said Pola, "to have acted unchiefly to a +friend." + +We never would have known of the famine in Tanugamanono if it had not +been for Pola. The hurricane had blown off all the young nuts from the +cocoanut palms and the fruit from the breadfruit trees, while the taro +was not yet ripe. We passed the village daily. The chief was my +brother's dear friend; the girls often came up to decorate the place for +a dinner party, but we had no hint of any distress in the village. + +One morning I gave Pola two large ship's biscuits from the pantry. + +"Be not angry," said Pola, "but I prefer to carry these home." + +"Eat them," I said, "and I will give you more." + +Before leaving that night he came to remind me of this. I was swinging +in a hammock reading a novel when Pola came to kiss my hand and bid me +good night. + +"_Love_," I said, "_Talofa_." + +"_Soifua_," Pola replied, "may you sleep;" and then he added, "Be not +angry, but the biscuits----" + +"Are you hungry?" I asked. "Didn't you have your dinner?" + +"Oh, yes, plenty of pea-soupo" (a general name for anything in tins); +"but you said, in your high-chief kindness, that if I ate the two +biscuits you would give me more to take home." + +"And you ate them?" + +He hesitated a perceptible moment, and then said: + +"Yes, I ate them." + +He looked so glowing and sweet, leaning forward to beg a favor, that I +suddenly pulled him to me by his bare, brown shoulders for a kiss. He +fell against the hammock and two large round ship's biscuits slipped +from under his _lava-lava_. + +"Oh, Pola!" I cried, reproachfully. It cut me to the heart that he +should lie to me. + +He picked them up in silence, repressing the tears that stood in his big +black eyes, and turned to go. I felt there was something strange in +this, one of those mysterious Samoan affairs that had so often baffled +me. + +"I will give you two more biscuits," I said, quietly, "if you will +explain why you told a wicked lie and pained the heart that loved you." + +"Teuila," he cried, anxiously, "I love you. I would not pain your heart +for all the world. But they are starving in the village. My father, the +chief, divides the food, so that each child and old person and all shall +share alike, and today there was only green baked bananas, two for each, +and tonight when I return there will be again a division of one for each +member of the village. It seems hard that I should come here and eat and +eat, and my brother and my two little sisters, and the good Tumau also, +should have only one banana. So I thought I would say to you, 'Behold, I +have eaten the two biscuits,' and then you would give me two more and +that would be enough for one each to my two sisters and Tumau and my +brother, who is older than I." + +That night my brother went down to the village and interviewed the +chief. It was all true, as Pola had said, only they had been too proud +to mention it. Mr. Stevenson sent bags of rice and kegs of beef to the +village, and gave them permission to dig for edible roots in our forest, +so they were able to tide over until the taro and yams were ripe. + +Pola always spoke of Vailima as "our place," and Mr. Stevenson as "my +chief." I had given him a little brown pony that exactly matched his own +skin. A missionary, meeting him in the forest road as he was galloping +along like a young centaur, asked, "Who are you?" + +"I," answered Pola, reining in his pony with a gallant air, "am one of +the Vailima men!" + +He proved, however, that he considered himself a true Samoan by a +conversation we had together once when we were walking down to Apia. We +passed a new house where a number of half-caste carpenters were briskly +at work. + +"See how clever these men are, Pola," I said, "building the white man's +house. When you get older perhaps I will have you taught carpentering, +that you may build houses and make money." + +"Me?" asked Pola, surprised. + +"Yes," I replied. "Don't you think that would be a good idea?" + +"I am the son of a chief," said Pola. + +"I know," I said, "that your highness is a very great personage, but all +the same it is good to know how to make money. Wouldn't you like to be a +carpenter?" + +"No," said Pola, scornfully, adding, with a wave of his arm that took in +acres of breadfruit trees, banana groves, and taro patches, "Why should +I work? All this land belongs to me." + +Once, when Pola had been particularly adorable, I told him, in a burst +of affection, that he could have anything in the world he wanted, only +begging him to name it. + +He smiled, looked thoughtful for an instant, and then answered, that of +all things in the world, he would like ear-rings, like those the sailors +wear. + +I bought him a pair the next time I went to town. Then, armed with a +cork and a needleful of white silk, I called Pola, and asked if he +wanted the ear-rings badly enough to endure the necessary operation. + +He smiled and walked up to me. + +"Now, this is going to hurt, Pola," I said. + +He stood perfectly straight when I pushed the needle through his ear and +cut off a little piece of silk. I looked anxiously in his face as he +turned his head for me to pierce the other one. I was so nervous that my +hands trembled. + +"Are you _sure_ it does not hurt, Pola, my pigeon?" I asked, and I have +never forgotten his answer. + +"My father is a soldier," he said. + +Pola's dress was a simple garment, a square of white muslin hemmed by +his adopted mother. Like all Samoans, he was naturally very clean, going +with the rest of the "Vailima men" to swim in the waterfall twice a day. +He would wash his hair in the juice of wild oranges, clean his teeth +with the inside husk of the cocoanut, and, putting on a fresh +_lava-lava_, would wash out the discarded one in the river, laying it +out in the sunshine to dry. He was always decorated with flowers in some +way--a necklace of jessamine buds, pointed red peppers, or the scarlet +fruit of the pandanas. Little white boys looked naked without their +clothes, but Pola in a strip of muslin, with his wreath of flowers, or +sea-shells, some ferns twisted about one ankle, perhaps, or a boar's +tusk fastened to his left arm with strands of horse-hair, looked +completely, even handsomely, dressed. + +He was not too proud to lend a helping hand at any work going--setting +the table, polishing the floor of the hall or the brass handles of the +old cabinet, leading the horses to water, carrying pails for the +milkmen, helping the cook in the kitchen, the butler in the pantry, or +the cowboy in the fields; holding skeins of wool for Mr. Stevenson's +mother, or trotting beside the lady of the house, "Tamaitai," as they +all called her, carrying seeds or plants for her garden. When my brother +went out with a number of natives laden with surveying implements, Pola +only stopped long enough to beg for a cane-knife before he was leading +the party. If Mr. Stevenson called for his horse and started to town it +was always Pola who flew to open the gate for him, waving a "_Talofa_!" +and "Good luck to the traveling!" + +The Samoans are not reserved, like the Indians, or haughty, like the +Arabs. They are a cheerful, lively people, who keenly enjoy a joke, +laughing at the slightest provocation. Pola bubbled over with fun, and +his voice could be heard chattering and singing gaily at any hour of the +day. He made up little verses about me, which he sang to the graceful +gestures of the Siva or native dance, showing unaffected delight when +commended. He cried out with joy and admiration when he first heard a +hand-organ, and was excitedly happy when allowed to turn the handle. I +gave him a box of tin soldiers, which he played with for hours in my +room. He would arrange them on the floor, talking earnestly to himself +in Samoan. + +"These are brave brown men," he would mutter. "They are fighting for +Mata'afa. Boom! Boom! These are white men. They are fighting the +Samoans. Pouf!" And with a wave of his arm he knocked down a whole +battalion, with the scornful remark, "All white men are cowards." + +After Mr. Stevenson's death so many of his Samoan friends begged for his +photograph that we sent to Sydney for a supply, which was soon +exhausted. One afternoon Pola came in and remarked, in a very hurt and +aggrieved manner, that he had been neglected in the way of photographs. + +"But your father, the chief, has a large fine one." + +"True," said Pola. "But that is not mine. I have the box presented to me +by your high-chief goodness. It has a little cover, and there I wish to +put the sun-shadow of Tusitala, the beloved chief whom we all revere, +but I more than the others because he was the head of my clan." + +"To be sure," I said, and looked about for a photograph. I found a +picture cut from a weekly paper, one I remember that Mr. Stevenson +himself had particularly disliked. He would have been pleased had he +seen the scornful way Pola threw the picture on the floor. + +"I will not have that!" he cried. "It is pig-faced. It is not the shadow +of our chief." He leaned against the door and wept. + +"I have nothing else, Pola," I protested. "Truly, if I had another +picture of Tusitala I would give it to you." + +He brightened up at once. "There is the one in the smoking-room," he +said, "where he walks back and forth. That pleases me, for it looks like +him." He referred to an oil painting of Mr. Stevenson by Sargent. I +explained that I could not give him that. "Then I will take the round +one," he said, "of tin." This last was the bronze _bas-relief_ by St. +Gaudens. I must have laughed involuntarily, for he went out deeply hurt. +Hearing a strange noise in the hall an hour or so later, I opened the +door, and discovered Pola lying on his face, weeping bitterly. + +"What _are_ you crying about?" I asked. + +"The shadow, the shadow," he sobbed. "I want the sun-shadow of +Tusitala." + +I knocked at my mother's door across the hall, and at the sight of that +tear-stained face her heart melted, and he was given the last photograph +we had, which he wrapped in a banana-leaf, tying it carefully with a +ribbon of grass. + +We left Samoa after Mr. Stevenson's death, staying away for more than a +year. Pola wrote me letters by every mail in a large round hand, but +they were too conventional to bear any impress of his mind. He referred +to our regretted separation, exhorting me to stand fast in the +high-chief will of the Lord, and, with his love to each member of the +family, mentioned by name and title, he prayed that I might live long, +sleep well, and not forget Pola, my unworthy servant. + +When we returned to Samoa we were up at dawn, on shipboard, watching the +horizon for the first faint cloud that floats above the island of Upulu. +Already the familiar perfume came floating over the waters--that sweet +blending of many odors, of cocoanut-oil and baking breadfruit, of +jessamine and gardenia. It smelt of home to us, leaning over the rail +and watching. First a cloud, then a shadow growing more and more +distinct until we saw the outline of the island. Then, as we drew +nearer, the deep purple of the distant hills, the green of the rich +forests, and the silvery ribbons where the waterfalls reflect the +sunshine. + +Among the fleet of boats skimming out to meet us was one far ahead of +the others, a lone canoe propelled by a woman, with a single figure +standing in the prow. As the steamer drew near I made out the figure of +Pola, dressed in wreaths and flowers in honor of my return. As the +anchor went down in the bay of Apia and the custom-house officer started +to board, I called out, begging him to let the child come on first. He +drew aside. The canoe shot up to the gangway, and Pola, all in his +finery of fresh flowers, ran up the gangway and stepped forth on the +deck. The passengers drew back before the strange little figure, but he +was too intent upon finding me to notice them. + +"Teuila!" he cried, joyfully, with the tears rolling down his cheeks. I +went forward to meet him, and, kneeling on the deck, caught him in my +arms. + + + + +LOVE AND ADVERTISING + +BY + +RICHARD WALTON TULLY + +Reprinted from _The Cosmopolitan Magazine_ of April, 1906 by permission + + +I DO NOT demand," said Mr. Pepper, "I simply suggest a change. If you +wish me to resign"--his self-deprecatory manner bespoke an impossible +supposition--"very well. But, if you see fit to find me a new +assistant----" He paused, with an interrogatory cough. + +It was the senior partner who answered, "We shall consider the matter." + +The advertising manager's lean face took on an expression of +satisfaction. He bowed and disappeared through the door. + +Young Kaufmann, the junior partner, smiled covertly. But the elder man's +face bespoke keen disappointment. For it must be explained that Mr. +Pepper's simple announcement bore vitally upon the only dissension that +had ever visited the firm of Kaufmann & Houghton during the thirty years +of its existence. + +In 1875, when John Houghton, fresh from college, had come to New York to +find his fortune, the elder Kaufmann had been a candy manufacturer with +a modest trade on the East Side. Young Houghton had taken the agency of +a glucose firm. The disposal of this product had brought the two +together, with the result that a partnership had been formed to carry +on a wholesale confectionery business. Success in this venture had led +to new and more profitable fields--the chewing-gum trade. + +The rise to wealth of these two was the result of the careful plodding +of the German workman, who kept the "K. & H." products up to an +unvarying standard, joined with the other's energy and acumen in +marketing the output. And this mutual relation had been disturbed by but +one difference. When Houghton was disposed to consider a college man for +a vacancy, Kaufmann had always been ready with his "practical man dot +has vorked hiss vay." And each time, in respect to his wishes, Houghton +had given in, reflecting that perhaps (as Kaufmann said) it had been +that he, himself, was a good business man in spite of his college +training, not because of it; and, after all, college ideals had sunk +since _his_ time. And the college applicant had been sent away. + +Young Johann Kaufmann graduated from grammar school. Houghton suggested +high school and college. + +"Vat? Nein!" said the elder Kaufmann. "I show him how better the gum to +make." + +And he did. He put on an apron as of yore and started his son under his +personal supervision in the washing-room. He took off his apron when +Johann knew all about handling chicle products, from importing-bag to +tin-foil wrapper. Then he died. + +And this year troublesome conditions had come on. The Consolidated +Pepsin people were cutting in severely. Orders for the great specialty +of K. & H.--"Old Tulu"--had fallen. Something had to be done. + +Houghton, now senior partner, had proposed, and young Kaufmann agreed, +that an advertising expert be secured. But the agreement ended there. +For the first words of the junior partner showed Houghton that the +spirit of the father was still sitting at that desk opposite, and +smiling the same fat, phlegmatic smile at his supposed weakness for +"dose college bitzness." + +They had compromised upon Mr. Pepper, secured from Simpkins' Practical +Advertising School. But at the end of six months, Pepper's so-called +"follow-up campaign" had failed to meet materially the steady inroads of +the western men. He had explained that it was the result of his need of +an assistant. It was determined to give him one. + +Then, one night as he sat in his library, John Houghton had looked into +a pair of blue eyes and promised to "give Tom Brainard the chance." In +consequence he had had his hair tousled, been given a resounding kiss +and a crushing hug from the young lady on his knees. For Dorothy +Houghton, despite her nineteen years, still claimed that privilege from +her father. + +In that way, for the first time, a college man had come into the employ +of K. & H., and been made the assistant of Mr. Pepper at the salary he +demanded--"any old thing to start the ball rolling." + +And now had come the information that the senior partner's long-desired +experiment had ended in failure. + +Young Kaufmann turned to his work with the air of one who has given a +child its own way and seen it come to grief. + +"I--I suppose," Houghton said slowly, "we'll have to let Brainard go." + +And then a peculiar thing happened. Through the open window, floating in +the summer air, he seemed to see a familiar figure. It was dressed in +fluffy white, and carried a parasol over its shoulders. It fluttered +calmly in, seated itself on the sill, and gazed at him with blue eyes +that were serious, reproachful. + +"Daddy!" it said, and it brushed away a wisp of hair by its ear--just as +another one, long ago, had used to. "Daddy!" it faltered. "Why did I ask +you to give him the place, if it wasn't because--because----" + +The spell was broken by Kaufmann's voice. "Whatefer you do, I am +sooted," he was saying. It might have been his father. "But if w'at +Pepper says about Brainard----" + +The senior partner straightened up and pushed a button. "Yes. But We +haven't heard what Brainard says about Pepper." + +Several moments later Tom Brainard entered. Medium-sized and muscular, +he was dressed in a loose-fitting suit that by its very cut told his +training. He stood between them as Mr. Pepper had done, but there was +nothing of the other's ingratiating deference in his level look. + +"Sit down, Brainard," said Houghton. The newcomer did so, and the senior +partner marked an attitude of laziness and indifference. + +Houghton became stern. "Brainard," he began, "I gave you a chance with +us because----" He paused. + +The other colored. "I had hoped to make good without that." + +"But this morning Mr. Pepper----" + +"Said we couldn't get along together. That's true." + +"Ah! You admit!" It was Kaufmann. + +"Yes." + +There was a pause. Then Houghton spoke. "I can't tell you how much this +disappoints me, Brainard. The fact is, for years I have tried to shut my +eyes to the development of college training. In my time there was not +the call for practicality that there is today. Yet it seems to me that +the training in our colleges has grown less and less practical. Why do +the colleges turn out men who spend their time in personal gossip over +sport or trivialities?" + +"You remember that the King of Spain--or was it Cambodia--puzzled his +wise men for a year as to why a fish, when dropped into a full pail of +water, didn't make it overflow." + +"What's that got to do with it?" + +"Because I must answer as the king did: It's not so--the pail _does_ +overflow. They hadn't thought to try it." + +"You mean that I am wrong." + +"Yes. Are you sure your gossips were 'college men'?" + +"Ah!" Houghton made a gesture to his partner, who was about to speak. +"Then let us commence at the root of the matter. Mr. Kaufmann and I have +often discussed the subject. In this case you are the one who has 'tried +it.' Suppose you explain our mistake." + +"I'd be glad to do that," said Brainard, "because I've heard a lot of +that talk." + +"Well?" + +"Well--of course when I say 'college man' I mean college graduate." + +"Why?" + +"If a kitten crawls into an oven, is it a biscuit?" + +There was an earnestness that robbed the question of any flippancy. + +Houghton laughed. "No!" + +"If a dub goes into college and gets flunked out in a month, is he a +college man?" + +"Hardly." + +"Oh, but he calls himself one. He goes to Podunk all decorated up in +geraniums and the rest of his life is a 'college man.' I'm not talking +about him or the man who comes to college to learn to mix +cocktails--inside. He may last to the junior year. I'm talking about the +graduate--they're only about a tenth of the college. But they're the +finished product. Mr. Kaufmann, you wouldn't try to sell gum that had +only gone as far as the rolling-room, would you?" + +"W'at--me?" + +"Would you?" + +"No." The junior partner was puzzled. + +"That's because you want it to go through all the processes. Well, let's +talk only about the boy who has gone all the way through the man +factory." + +Houghton nodded. "That's fair." + +"The trouble is, people don't do that. They persist in butting into the +college world, jerking out some sophomore celebration, and saying, 'What +use is this silly thing in the real world?'" + +"Well, aren't they right?" + +"No. That's just the point. The college world is a mimic world--and your +lifetime is just four years. The sophomore celebration is a practical +thing there; perhaps it's teaching loyalty--that generally comes first. +That's your college rolling-room. But the graduate--he's learned to do +_something_ well. I never knew a college man who wasn't at least +responsible." + +"But----" + +"But here's the trouble: after selecting say two hundred fellows out of +an entering bunch of six hundred, and developing the thing each is best +fitted for, _father_ steps in and the boy who would have made a +first-class professor is put into business and blamed for being +impractical. The fellow who has been handling thousands of dollars in +college management and running twenty assistants--the man who could have +taken the place--has no father to give him the boost necessary, and the +other man's failure has queered his chances. He has to go to work as a +mere clerk under a man--excuse me, I don't want to do any knocking." + +"You think the whole trouble is caused by misdirected nepotism." + +"Yes." + +"Ah----" It was young Kaufmann again. "But you said that you were +trained in advertising on your college paper." + +"Yes--and I was going to tell you today, if Mr. Pepper hadn't, that the +money you're paying for me is utterly wasted." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes. I can't look in the face of a hungry designer and beat him down to +within a dollar of the cost of materials. And--and--my suggestions upon +broader lines don't seem to cause much hooray." + +"Well--" the junior partner sat up--"since you admit----" He paused for +his partner to speak the words of discharge. + +But Houghton was looking quizzically at the college man. "What was your +idea as to broader lines?" + +Brainard hesitated. "Well, it seemed to me that Pepper is trying to do +two things that are antagonistic: be _'elite'_ and sell chewing-gum. The +fact is that _elite_ people don't chew gum. I'd like to know how the +statement, 'Old Tulu--Best by Test,' will make a kid on the corner with +a cent in his fist have an attack of mouth-watering." + +Kaufmann roused himself. "It is true. Our gum _is_ the best." + +"I'm not disputing that, but still it's _gum_. If you're trying to +increase the vulgar habit of gum-chewing--well--you can't do it by +advertising the firm's financial standing, its age, or the purity of its +output. That would do for an insurance company or a bank--but _gum_! Who +cares for purity! All they want to know is if it _schmeckt gut_." This +last with a humorous glance at Kaufmann. + +The latter was scowling. Brainard was touching a tender spot. + +"Well, what would you do?" + +Brainard flushed. He felt the tone of sarcasm in the elder man's voice. +He tightened his lips. "At least, I'd change the name of the gum!" + +"Change the name!" Kaufmann was horrified. + +"Well, nobody wants 'Old Tulu.' They want 'New Tulu' or 'Fresh Tasty +Tulu.' At least, something to appeal to the imagination of +Sadie-at-the-ribbon-counter." + +"Oh!" observed Houghton. "And the name you suggest?" + +"Well,--say something like 'Lulu Tulu.'" + +"Gott!" Kaufmann struck the desk a blow with his fist. It was an insult +to his father's memory. + +Brainard rose. "I'm sorry," he said, "if I have offended. To save you +any further bother, I'll just cut it out after Saturday. I--thank you +for the chance"--he smiled a little ruefully--"the chance you have given +me. Good day, gentlemen." + +He turned on his heel and left the office. + + * * * * * + +As John Houghton was driven home that night, he became suddenly +conscious that he would soon meet the apparition of the afternoon in the +flesh. And though, of course, there was no need, he found himself +rehearsing the justification of his position. "Lulu Tulu" indeed! +Imagine the smile that would have illumined the faces at the club on +such an announcement. The impudence of the boy to have suggested it to +him--him who had so often held forth upon the value of conservatism in +business! And he remembered with pride the speaker who had once said, +"It is such solid vertebrae as Mr. Houghton that form the backbone of +our business world." That speaker had been Bender, of the New York +Dynamo Company. Poor Bender! The Western Electric Construction had got +him after all. + +This line of thought caused Houghton to reach in his pocket and produce +a letter. He went over the significant part again. + +"Our Mr. Byrnes reports the clinching of the subway vending-machine +contract," it read, "and this, together with our other business, will +give us over half of the New York trade. With this statement before us, +we feel that we can make a winning fight if you still refuse to consider +our terms. In view of recent developments, we cannot repeat our former +offer but if you will consider sixty-seven as a figure----" + +Sixty-seven! And a year before he would not have taken one hundred and +ten! In the bitterness of the moment, he wondered if he, too, would +finally go the way that Bender had. + +And then, as the butler swung the door back, he was recalled to the +matter of Tom Brainard by the sight of a familiar figure that floated +toward him as airily as had its astral self that afternoon. + +He kissed her and went to his study. Just before dinner was not a time +to discuss such things. But later, as he looked across the candelabra at +his daughter, all smiles and happiness in that seat that had been her +mother's, he regretted that he had not, for---- + +"Daddy," Dorothy was saying, "I got such a funny note from Tom this +afternoon. He says there has been a change at the office and that you +will explain." + +"Yes." + +"Well----?" She paused eagerly. "It's something awfully good--I know." + +Her father frowned and caught her eye. "Later," he said significantly. + +The girl read the tone, and the gaiety of the moment before was gone. +After that they ate in silence. + +One cigar--two cigars had been smoked when she stole into the library. +Since coffee (whether from design or chance he never knew), she had +rearranged her hair. Now it was low on her neck in a fashion of long +ago, with a single curl that strayed over a white shoulder to her bosom. +She knelt at his side without a word. + +He looked down at her. Somehow he had never seen her like this +before--that curious womanly expression. + +"Tell me," was all she said. + +And, as he told Tom Brainard's failure to fit in, he watched her +closely. "I'm sorry," he concluded. + +"So am I, daddy," she returned steadily; "because I am going to marry +him." + +"What?" + +"Oh, you knew--you must have," she said, "when I asked you to give him +the chance." + +The father was silent. In fancy he again heard Dolly Warner promising, +against her parents' advice, to wait for her John to "get on in the +world." + +"Well?" he asked. + +"Do you think you've given him a fair chance?" + +He was restored to his usual poise. "I suppose he complained that I +didn't." + +Dorothy's eyes went wide. "No, he said that after I had heard the news +from you, he would leave everything to me." + +"Oh!" + +"But, father, I don't think you _have_ been fair. Tom is right. _I_ +don't chew gum, do I?" + +"Well----" He was indignant. Then he stopped thoughtfully. "No." + +"But Mary downstairs does. She wouldn't be offended at 'Lulu Tulu.' I +dare say she'd think it 'just grand.'" + +He returned no answer. + +"Come, daddy," she went on. "New York has grown lots--even since I was +little. And--and some people get behind the times. They think they're +being dignified when it's only that they're antiquated." + +He looked shrewdly at her. "I never heard you talk like that before. +Where did you----" + +"Tom said that a week ago," she admitted. "And he said, too, that he +could double the results if he only had full swing. Instead, you admit +he's a mere clerk for that horrid Pepper. Oh, daddy, daddy," she +pleaded. "Give him a chance." Then her voice went low again. "I'm going +to marry him anyway," she said, "and you don't want this between. If he +fails, I'll stand the loss from what mother left me. Give him full +swing--a real chance, daddy! He's going to be--_your son_." + +John Houghton looked into the earnest girlish face. He wound the curl +about his finger. "Kaufmann has always wanted to visit the Fatherland," +he said irrelevantly. + +She gave a quick, eager look. "And that Pepper could go on a vacation." + + * * * * * + +Days drag very slowly at a summer resort, especially when one has +promised not to write to him. But Dorothy's father had kept his word, so +she could but do the same. Behind, in the sweltering city, in full +charge for six weeks was Tom Brainard. His authority included permission +to invent and use any new labels or trade-marks he saw fit. + +The girl at the seashore, however, was also busy--amusing her father +that he might not give too much time to thinking. And then, when three +of the six weeks had passed, came the accident to the motor car. + +She was told that with rest and no worries, her father would recover in +a week or two. She cheerfully fitted into the role of assistant to the +nurse in charge, and, as soon as the doctor allowed, prepared to read +his mail to him as he lay, eyes and head bandaged. But as she opened and +glanced over the accumulated letters, she suddenly went pale. She read +one in particular from end to end, and then, with a scared, furtive look +at the bandaged figure, slipped it into a pocket. + +Later, when her father had finished dictating to her, she answered the +concealed letter herself. + +Again the days drifted. The bandages were removed; but still the girl +continued to scan the mail. Her vigilance was rewarded. She flushed over +a second letter which, with one in a worn envelope, she took to her +father. + +He saw the careworn expression. "My little girl has been overworking," +he said. + +She held out the worn letter. "I've had this for some time--but--but I +waited for something more, and here it is." She showed the other. + +He took the first, and when he had finished, his hand was trembling. + +"I regret to report that things are in a chaos," it ran. "All of the +regular advertising has been withdrawn. The usual entertainment money +for salesmen classed under this head has been stopped. In consequence, +our city trade has tumbled fearfully--and you know how bad it was +before. The worst news I have to offer is in regard to Mr. Brainard +personally. Our detective reports that his time outside is spent in most +questionable company. He has been seen drinking at roof-gardens with a +certain dissipated pugilist named Little Sullivan, and was traced with +this man to the apartment of a song-and-dance woman named Violette. He +seems to be spending money extravagantly and visits certain bohemian +quarters in the vicinity of Jones Street, where he puts in his time with +disreputable-looking men. I beg leave to advise immediate +action.--Mowbray." + +"My God!" groaned Houghton. This explained that derisive offer of +fifty-one from Consolidated Pepsin. + +"And you kept this from me?" + +"They said not to worry you," she said. "I--I've had enough for two. +Besides, I answered it." + +"You did! What----?" + +"I told them to wait a little longer." + +The father groaned again. + +"I just _had_ to, daddy; and then today this letter came." + +He seized it eagerly. It read: "You were right about waiting. Suspend +all action." + +"What does it mean?" she asked. + +"We'll find out tomorrow," he answered grimly. + +The 4:30 train gave John Houghton just time to reach the office before +it closed. Dorothy went home. Her father, roused by the evil news of the +day before, had impressed her with all that it might mean in a material +way. As though that mattered!--as though anything could hurt her more! +She would have been willing to go with Tom Brainard in rags before--but +now! + +She sat by the telephone with clenched fists, her traveling veil still +pushed up on her hat, the lines that had come into her face during the +past week deepening with the dusk. At last--a long, sharp ring! +"Yes--father--not dine at home--meet you at the Yolland--a guest. +Yes--but about Tom--what?--7:30--But about Tom, daddy? Good-by?!! But, +daddy!!!" + +It was no use. He had hung up. She called feverishly for the office, but +the reply was, "They do not answer." Mechanically she went up to her +room. "The blue mousseline, Susan," she said. + +As the maid laid it out, she walked the floor. Through the window the +park lay green and inviting. She longed to fly to the cool grass and +run--and run---- + +From below came the loud, rasping notes of a street-piano that, in some +incomprehensible fashion, had wandered to the deserted row of houses. +The noise, for all that there was a pleasing swing to the air, irritated +her. She threw the man a quarter. "Go away," she waved. + +At last the maid said her mistress was ready, and Dorothy, without +questioning the decision, allowed herself to be put into the brougham. + +The drive seemed hours long, and then--her father's face told her +nothing. Without a word, he led her to a reception-room. As they +entered, a figure sprang to meet them. + +For a moment she hesitated. Then, "Tom!" she cried, and caught his hand. + +He saw the whiteness of her face, and all the yearnings of their +separation matched it upon his. + +"Dorothy!" he faltered. + +Her father interrupted. "Tom is to explain how he has quadrupled our +business in the last week." + +A sudden weakness seized her. She followed them unsteadily. Seated at a +table, however, she was able to smile again. At that moment, the +orchestra, striking up, suddenly caught her attention. +"Tum--tum-tum--tum-tum--tum"--that haunting, swinging melody of the +street-piano. + +"What tune is that?" she asked. + +Brainard smiled. "_That_ is a tune that has suddenly become popular. Any +night you may see hundreds of East Side children dancing on the asphalt +and singing it." + +"Yes," she said. "I heard it on a street-piano." + +"It's called," he went on, '"My Lulu Tulu Girl.' All the grinders have +it. Billy Tompkins, Noughty-three, who lives in the Jones Street social +settlement, worked that for me. Those dagoes worship him--saved a kid's +life or something." + +A light came into John Houghton's eyes. + +"That's part of the scheme. Aspwell wrote the song. I found him down in +bohemia working on an opera. But, for the sake of old days in the senior +extravaganza, he turned off 'My Lulu Tulu Girl.' You know those orders +on your desk are for our new brand, 'Lulu Tulu.' The song was +introduced two weeks ago at the Metropolitan Roof by Violette, a young +lady who married our old football trainer, Little Sullivan. We'll hear +her later--I have tickets. Then we'll go to Leith's; there's a turn +there by 'Jim Bailey and his Six Lulu Tulu Girls'--rather vulgar (while +they dance they chew the gum and perform calisthenics with it) but it +seems to go. Then----" + +"Tom!" + +"After we've dined, I'll show you our regular magazine and newspaper +advertising in the reading-room--double space. You see, I couldn't ask +you to increase, so I stopped it for a time and saved up. But I hope +you'll stand for it regularly. It's mainly pictures of Miss. Lulu Tulu +in a large Florodora hat, with verses below apostrophizing the poetry of +motion of her jaws. Then there's a line of limericks about the +adventures of the 'Lulu Tulu Gummies'--small gum-headed tykes--always in +trouble until they find Lulu. I got Phillips to do that as a personal +favor." + +"Also Noughty-something, I suppose," remarked Houghton. + +"Yes. But he graduated before my time. I knew his work in the college +annual. He's in the magazines now. Then I got Professor Wheaton--'Jimmy +the Grind' we used to call him--his folks wanted him to be a +poet--imagine Jimmy a poet!--I got Professor Wheaton to give us some +readers on 'Tulu as a Salivary Stimulant,' 'The Healthful Effect of Pure +Saliva on Food Products' and 'The Degenerative Effect of Artificially +Relieving an Organ of its Proper Functions.' That hits the Pepsin +people, you see----" + +And so it ran--until he had covered his plan fully, and Dorothy's face +with happy smiles. + +"Tom," said the father, "if I had opened that letter instead of Dolly!" + +Dorothy suddenly became demure under their gaze and sought to change the +subject. "Then you admit, daddy, that a college man is of some use?" + +"I'll admit that Tom got the business. But that was because he is +naturally clever and business-like, not because----" + +"Just a moment," said Brainard. "I think I can show that you're +mistaken. I found out that Pepper was doing the wrong thing--by the +first rule of criticism (freshman English): 'What is the author trying +to do? Does he do it? Is it worth doing?' Substitute 'advertising man' +for 'author' and you have a business that is worth doing (since you +continue it)--and by the other two questions I saw his incongruity of +subject-matter and expression.' My economics taught me the 'law of +supply and demand.' 'Analytical research of original authorities' taught +me where the demand was. There was only the problem of a cause to +stimulate it. Through deductive logic' and 'psychology' I got the cause +that would appeal, and the effect worked out in an increased demand +which we were ready to supply--just like a problem in math." + +The elder man smiled. "I don't understand a word you say, but it seems +to have _worked_ well. In the future, bring in as many of your Noughty +friends as we need. I'll answer for Kaufmann." + +The other shook his head. "I'm not sure they would be any too anxious." + +Houghton gasped in surprise. "What's that--they wouldn't be anxious to +go into _business_! Why not?" + +"Why not?" There was equal amazement in the younger man's tone. "Would +you be anxious to leave a place where you're surrounded by friends +you've tried--friends that won't stab you in the back the next minute +and call it a 'business deal'--where you're respected and in control of +things, and plunge out to become a freshman in the world-life, to do the +sorting and trying all over again?" + +"I remember--I remember----" + +"And besides, what right has any one to assume that _business_ is above +art, charity or even mere learning? Billy Tompkins, in the slums helping +dagoes, is a failure to his father--so is Aspwell with his opera--so is +Williams with his spectacles in his lab. But--who knows--when the Great +Business is finally balanced----" He stopped, conscious that he was +growing too rhetorical. + +"If you loved college ideals so much more than business," observed +Houghton, "then why did you come to us?" + +A different light stole into the younger man's eyes. "Because"--he +answered, "because I loved something else better than either." And he +reached his hand under the cloth to one who understood. + +That is all--except that the next offer of Consolidated Pepsin was, +"Will you please name your own terms?" + + + + +THE TEWANA + +BY + +HERMAN WHITAKER + +Reprinted from _The Blue Mule_ _A Western Magazine of Stories_, of +February, 1906 by permission + + +SHE WAS a Tewana of the Tehuantepec Isthmus, a primal woman, +round-armed, deep-breasted, shapely as the dream on which Canova modeled +Venus. Her skin was of the rich gold hue that marks the blood unmuddied +by Spanish strain; to see her, poised on a rich hip by the river's +brink, wringing her tresses after the morning bath, it were justifiable +to mistake her for some beautiful bronze. Moreover, it were easy to see +her, for, in Tehuantepec, innocence is thoughtless as in old Eden. When +Paul Steiner passed her one morning, she gave him the curious open-eyed +stare of a deer, bade him a pleasant "_Buenos dias, Senor!_" and would +have proceeded, undisturbed, with her toilet, but that he spoke. In this +he was greatly mistaken. Gringos there are--praise the saints!--who can +judge Tehuantepec by the insight of kindred purity, but Paul had to +learn by the more uncomfortable method of a stone in the face. + +He ought not, however, to be too severely handled for his dulness. +Though a mining engineer, nature had endowed him with little beyond the +algebraic qualities necessary to the profession; a German-American, a +dull birth and heredity had predestined him for that class which clothes +its morality in fusty black and finds safety in following its neighbor +in the cut of its clothes and conduct. As then, he was not planned for +original thinking, it is not at all surprising that he should--when +pitchforked by Opportunity into the depths of tropical jungles--lose his +moral bearings, fail to recognize a virtue that went in her own golden +skin, and so go down before a temptation that, of old, populated the +sexless desert. + +That his error continued in the face of Andrea's stone is certainly more +remarkable, though this also should be charged rather against her +mismarksmanship than to the wearing quality of his electro-plate +morality. It is doubtful if even the ancient Jews had found "stoning" as +efficacious a "cure for souls" had they thrown wide as she. Anyway, Paul +stood "unconvicted," as the revivalists have it, and being moved to +chagrin instead of shame, he carried the story of Andrea's surprising +modesty to Bachelder. + +Here was a man of other parts. An artist, he had traced the spinning +meridians over desert and sea, following the fluttering wing of the muse +till she rewarded his deathless hope by pausing for him in this small +Indian town. Expecting to stay a week, he had remained fifteen years, +failing to exhaust in that long time a tithe of its form and color. +Screened by tropical jungle, a mask of dark palms laced with twining +_bejucas_, it sat like a wonderfully blazoned cup in a wide green saucer +that was edged with the purple of low environing hills--a brimming cup +of inspiration. Save where some oaken grill supplied an ashen note, its +adobe streets burned in smoldering rose, purple and gold--the latter +always predominant. It glowed in the molten sunlight, shone in the soft +satin of a woman's skin; the very dust rose in auriferous clouds from +the wooden-wheeled ox-carts. But for its magenta tiling, the pillared +market stood, a huge monochrome, its deep yellows splashed here and +there with the crimson of the female hucksters' dresses. This was their +every-day wear--a sleeveless bodice, cut low over the matchless +amplitudes and so short that the smooth waist showed at each uplift of +the round, bronze arms; a skirt that was little more than a cloth wound +about the limbs; a shawl, all of deep blood color. Small wonder that he +had stayed on, and on, and on, while the weeks merged into months, and +months into years. + +He lived in the town's great house, an old feudal hacienda with walls +two yards thick, recessed windows oaken grilled, and a pleasant patio +where the hidalgo could take his ease under cocoanut palms and lemon +trees while governments went to smash without. Here Bachelder was always +to be found in the heat of the day, and here he listened with huge +disgust to Paul's story. Because of their faith, strength and +purity--according to their standards--he had always sworn by the Tewana +women, setting them above all others, and though a frank sinner against +accepted moral codes, he would never have confused nudity with vice. + +"Man!" he exclaimed--so loudly that Rosa, his housekeeper, imagined that +something was going wrong again with the painting--"Man! all the dollars +you will ever earn would buy nothing more than her stone! If you want +her, you will have to marry her." + +"Oh, don't look so chopfallen!" he went on, scornfully, when Paul +blinked. "I mean marriage as she counts it. You will have to court her +for a couple of months--flowers, little gifts, small courtesies, that +sort of thing; then, if she likes you, she will come and keep your +house. When, later, you feel like settling down in the bosom of +respectability, there won't be a shred of law to hold you." + +Now if Paul lacked wit to analyze and apply to his own government a +moral law that has evolved from the painful travail of the generations, +it does not follow that he was too stupid to feel irony. Reddening, he +put forth the usual declaimer of honorable intention with the glib +tongue of passion. He meant well by the girl! Would give her a good +home, find her better than she had ever been found in her life! As for +marrying? He was not of the marrying kind! Never would! and so on, +finishing with a vital question--did Bachelder know where she lived? + +His color deepened under the artist's sarcastic glance. "So that's what +you're after? I wondered why you picked me for a father confessor. Well, +I don't, but you won't have any trouble in finding her. All the women +sell something; she's sure to be on the market in the morning. You will +get her quite easily. The girls seem to take pride in keeping a Gringo's +house--I don't know why, unless it be that they are so dazzled by the +things we have that they cannot see us for what we are." + + * * * * * + +A thousand crimson figures were weaving in and out the market's chrome +pillars when Paul entered next morning, but though it was hard to single +one person from the red confusion, luck led him almost immediately to +where Andrea stood, a basket of tortillas at her feet. Lacking +customers, just then, she leaned against a pillar, her scarlet flaming +against its chrome, thoughtful, pensive, as Bachelder painted her for +"The Enganchada," the girl sold for debt. Her shawl lay beside her +basket, so her hair, that had flown loose since the morning bath, fell +in a cataract over the polished amplitudes of bosom and shoulders. Save +when feeling shot them with tawny flashes--as waving branches filter +mottled sunlight on brown waters--her eyes were dark as the pools of +Lethe, wherein men plunge and forget the past. They brought +forgetfulness to Paul of his moral tradition, racial pride, the +carefully conned apology which he did not remember until, an hour later, +he fed her entire stock in trade to his dog. It was better so. Black, +brown or white women are alike sensitive to the language of flowers, and +the lilies he left in her basket served him more sweetly than could his +stammering tongue. Next morning, curiosity replaced hostility in her +glance, and when he left the market, her brown gaze followed him beyond +the portals. Needs not, however, to linger over the courtship. +Sufficient that color of skin does not affect the feminine trait that +forgiveness comes easier when the offense was provoked by one's own +beauty; the story goes on from the time that Andrea moved into his house +with a stock of household gear that extorted musical exclamations from +all her girl friends. + +To their housekeeping Andrea contributed only her handsome body with a +contained cargo of unsuspected qualities and virtues that simply +dazzled Paul as they cropped out upon the surface. In public a Tewana +bears herself staidly, carrying a certain dignity of expression that of +itself reveals how, of old, her forbears came to place limits to the +ambition of the conquering Aztec and made even Spanish dominion little +more than an uncomfortable name. Though, through courtship, Andrea's +stern composure had shown no trace of a thaw, it yet melted like snow +under a south wind when she was once ensconced in their little home. +Moreover, she unmasked undreamed of batteries, bewildering Paul with +infinite variety of feminine complexities. She would be arch, gay, +saucy, and in the next breath fall into one of love's warm silences, +watching him with eyes of molten bronze. She taught him the love of the +tropics without transcending modesty. Also she astonished him, +negatively, by the absence of those wide differences of nature and +feeling between her and the cultured women of his own land that reading +in the primal school of fiction had led him to expect. He learned from +her that woman is always woman under any clime or epoch. The greater +strength of her physique lessened, perhaps, the vine-like tendency, yet +she clung sufficiently to satisfy the needs of his masculinity; and she +displayed the feminine unreason, at once so charming and irritating, +with sufficient coquetry to freshen her love. Her greatest charm, +however, lay in the dominant quality of brooding motherhood, the +birthright of primal women and the very essence of femininity. After one +of those sweet silences, she would steal on him from behind, and pull +his head to her bosom with such a squeeze as a loving mother gives her +son. + +Yet, under even this mood, her laughter lay close to the surface, and +nothing tapped its merry flow quicker than Paul's Spanish. Picking up +the language haphazard, he had somehow learned to apply the verb +_tumblar_ to describe the pouring out of coffee, and he clung to it +after correction with a persistence that surely inhered in his dogged +German blood. "_Tumbarlo el cafe_!" he would say, and she would repeat +it, faithfully mimicking his accent. + +"Tumble out the coffee!" following it with peals of laughter. Or, +turning up a saucy face, she would ask, "Shall I tumble out more +coffee?" and again the laughter which came as readily at her own misfit +attempts at English. + +These, few and simple, were learned of Bachelder's woman, and sprung on +Paul as surprises on his return from visiting the mining properties, +which required his frequent presence. For instance, slipping to his knee +on one such occasion, with the great heart of her pulsing against him, +she sighed: "I love thee, lovest thou me?" + +A lesson from Bachelder pleased him less. Knowing Paul's pride in his +German ancestry, and having been present when, in seasons of swollen +pride, he had reflected invidiously in Andrea's presence on Mexico and +all things Mexican, the artist, in a wicked moment, taught her to lisp +"_Hoch der Kaiser_!" _lese-majeste_ that almost caused Paul a +fainting-fit. + +"You shouldn't have taught her that," he said to Bachelder. But the +mischief was done. Whenever, thereafter, through torment of insect or +obsession of national pride, he animadverted on her country, she +silenced him with the treasonable expression. + +She learned other than English from Bachelder's woman, sweating out the +dog days in Rosa's kitchen, experimenting with the barbaric dishes +Gringos love. She slaved for his comfort, keeping his linen, her house +and self so spotlessly clean that as Paul's passion waned, affection +grew up in its place--the respectful affection that, at home, would have +afforded a permanent basis for a happy marriage. When, a year later, +their baby came, no northern benedict could have been more proudly +happy. + +Watching him playing with the child, Bachelder would wonder if his union +also would terminate like all the others of his long experience. In her, +for it was a girl baby, Paul's fairness worked out, as she grew, in +marvelous delicacies of cream and rose, weaving, moreover, a golden woof +through the brown of her hair. From her mother she took a lithe +perfection of form. At two she was well started for a raving beauty, and +as much through his love for her as for Andrea, Paul had come, like +Bachelder, to swear by the Tewana women. + +He might have been swearing by them yet, but his company's business +suddenly called him north, and no man could have bidden a white wife +more affectionate farewell or have been more sure of his own return. "It +is a comfort to know that your woman won't go gadding while you are +away, and that is more than a fellow can make sure of at home." These +were his last words to Bachelder. + +He was to be absent two months, but after he had reported adversely on a +mine in Sonora, he was ordered to expert a group in far Guerrera, where +the mountains turn on edge and earth tosses in horrible tumult. Then +came a third order to report in New York for personal conference. Thus +the months did sums in simple addition while Andrea waited, serenely +confident of his return. Not that she lacked experience of deserted +wives, or based hope on her own attractions. Her furious mother love +simply could not form, much less harbor, the possibility of Paul's +deserting their pretty Lola. + +And, barring her loneliness, the year was kind to her, feeding her +mother love with small social triumphs. For one, Lola was chosen to sit +with three other tots, the most beautiful of Tewana's children, at the +feet of the Virgin in the Theophany of the "Black Christ" at the eastern +fiesta. From morning to mirk midnight, it was a hard vigil. By day the +vaulted church reeked incense; by night a thousand candles guttered +under the dark arches, sorely afflicting small, weary eyelids; yet Lola +sat it out like a small thoroughbred, earning thereby the priest's +kindly pat and her mother's devoted worship. + +Then, on her third saint day, the small girl donned her first fiesta +costume, a miniature of the heirlooms which descend from mother to +daughter, each generation striving to increase the magnificence of the +costume just as it strove to add to the gold pieces in the chain which +did triple duty as hoard, dowry and necklace. Andrea subtracted several +English sovereigns from her own to start Lola's, and, with the American +gold eagle, the gift of Bachelder, her _padrino_, godfather, they made +an affluent beginning for so small a girl. As for the costume? Its silk, +plush, velours, were worked by Andrea's clever fingers curiously and +wondrously, even when judged by difficult Tewana standards. Bachelder +painted the small thing, kneeling by her mother's side before the great +gold altar. Her starched skirt, with its band of red velours, stands of +itself leveling her head, so that she looks for all the world like a +serious cherub peering out from a wonderfully embroidered bath-cabinet. +But ah! the serious devotion of the faces! The muse Bachelder had +followed so faithfully was hovering closely when his soul flamed out +upon that canvas. It ranks with his "Enganchada." Either would bring him +fame, yet they rest, face to face, in a dusty locker, awaiting the day +when time or death shall cure the ache that a glimpse of either brings +him. + +Two months after that canvas was put away, eighteen counting from the +day of his departure, Bachelder walked, one day, down to the primitive +post-office to see if the mail that was due from the little fishing port +of Salina Cruz contained aught for him. _Waded_ would better describe +his progress, for it was the middle of the rains; water filled the air, +dropping in sheets from a livid sky; the streets were rivers running +full over the cobble curbs. Such white planters as came in occasionally +from the jungle country had been housefast upon their plantations for +this month, and, having the town pretty much to himself, the artist's +thought turned naturally to Paul, who used to bring doubtful mitigation +to his isolation. + +He had written the artist twice, but now six months had elapsed since +the last letter. "He'll never come back," the artist muttered. "Poor +Andrea! But it is better--now." + +Warm with the pity the thought inspired, he turned the corner into the +street that led to the post-office, and was almost run down by the first +mule of a train that came driving through the rain. + +"Bachelder!" the rider cried. + +It was surely Paul. Pulling up his beast, he thrust a wet hand from +under his rain poncha, then, turning in his saddle, he spoke to the +woman who rode behind him, "Ethel, this is Mr. Bachelder." + +The alternative had happened! As a small hand thrust back the hood of +mackintosh, Bachelder found himself staring at a sweet face, while an +equally sweet greeting was drowned by echoing questions in his mind. +"Good God!" he first thought. "Why did he bring her here?" And upon that +immediately followed, "How ever did he get her?" + +An evening spent with the pair at the small Mexican hotel increased his +wonder. Pleasant, pretty, of a fine sensibility and intellectual without +loss of femininity, the girl would have been fitly mated with a man of +the finest clay. How could she have married Paul? Bachelder thought, and +correctly, that he discerned the reason in a certain warmth of romantic +feeling that tinged her speech and manner. Daughter of an Episcopal +clergyman in Paul's native town, she had sighed for something different +from the humdrum of small teas, dinners, parochial calls, and when Paul +came to her with the glamour of tropical travel upon him, she married, +mistaking the glamour for him. + +"She loved me for the dangers I had passed!" the artist mused, quoting +Shakespeare, on his way home. "What a tragedy when she discovers him for +a spurious Othello!" + +Dropping into the studio next morning, Paul answered the other question. +"Why not?" he asked, with a touch of ancestral stolidity. "My work is +here. Andrea?" His next words plainly revealed that while his moral +plating had cracked and peeled under tropical heat, the iron convention +beneath had held without fracture. He began: "It was a beastliness that +we committed----" + +"That _you_ committed," Bachelder sharply corrected. "And what of the +child?" + +Blinking in the old fashion, Paul went on, "I was coming to that. She +cannot be allowed to grow up a little Mexican. I shall adopt her and +have her properly educated." Here he looked at Bachelder as though +expecting commendation for his honorable intention, and, receiving none, +went on, dilating on his plans for the child as if resolved to earn it. +Yet, setting aside this patent motive, it was easy to see as he warmed +to his subject that Andrea had not erred in counting on Lola to bring +him back. With her beauty she would do any man proud! The whole United +States would not be able to produce her rival! She should have the best +that money could give her! + +Wondering at the curious mixture of class egotism, paternal tenderness +and twisted morality, Bachelder listened to the end, then said, "Of +course, Mrs. Steiner approves of a ready-made family?" + +Paul's proud feathers draggled a little, and he reddened. "Well--you +see--she thinks Lola is the daughter of a dead mining friend. Some day, +of course, I'll tell her. In fact, the knowledge will grow on her. But +not now. It wouldn't do. She couldn't understand." + +"No?" But the quiet sarcasm was wasted on Paul, and the artist +continued, "Aren't you leaving Andrea out of your calculations?" + +Paul ruffled like an angry gobbler. His eyes took on an ugly gleam, his +jaw stuck out, his expression incarnated Teutonic obstinacy. "Oh, she'll +have to be fixed. Luckily it doesn't take much to buy these savage +women; their feelings are all on the surface. I'll give her the house, +furniture, and a hundred dollars cash. That should make up for the loss +of----" + +"----a husband?" Bachelder's face darkened. Throughout the conversation +he had worn an air of suppression, as though holding, by an effort, +something back. Now he straightened with a movement that was analogous +to the flexure of a coiled spring. His lips opened, closed again, and he +went on with his quiet questioning. "For a husband, yes. They are easy +stock to come by. But not for the child of her labor. Supposing she +refuses?" + +Paul's eyes glinted under his frown. "Then the Jefe-Politico earns the +hundred dollars and the law gives her to me." + +The spring uncoiled. "Never! She died a month ago of yellow fever." + +Under Teuton phlegm lies an hysteria that rivals that of the Latin +races. Paul's flame died to ashes and he burst out sobbing, throwing his +hands up and out with ungainly gestures. Looking down upon his awkward +grief, Bachelder half regretted the just anger that caused him to slip +the news like a lightning bolt; he would have felt sorrier but that he +perceived Paul's sorrow rooted in the same colossal egotism that would +have sacrificed the mother on the altars of its vast conceit. He knew +that Paul was grieving for himself, for lost sensations of pride, love +and pleasure that he could never experience again. When the ludicrous +travesty had partly spent itself, he stemmed the tide with a question. + +"If you don't care to see Andrea, I can make the settlements you hinted +at." + +Paul glanced up, stupidly resentful, through his tears. "The child is +dead. That is all off." + +"You will do nothing for her?" As much to prop an opinion of human +nature that was already too low for comfort as in Andrea's interest, +Bachelder asked the question. + +"She has the house furnishings," Paul sullenly answered. "That leaves +her a sight better off than she was before she knew me." + +Rising, the artist walked over to the window. "The river is rising," he +said, when he could trust himself to speak. "Another foot, and away goes +the bridge. When do you go to the mine?" + +"Tomorrow." + +"Mrs. Steiner goes with you?" + +"No, too wet." + +Bachelder hesitated. "I'd offer you my quarters, but--you see I am +neither married nor unmarried." + +"No!" Paul agreed with ponderous respectability. "It would never do. +Besides, I've hired a house of the Jefe-Politico; the one that crowns +the Promontory. When the rain slacks we'll move out to the mine." + +"There is one thing I should like," he added as he rose to go. "If you +would have a stone put over the child's grave--something nice--you're a +better judge than me,--I'll----" + +"Too late," the artist interrupted. "Andrea broke up her necklace; put +savings of eighteen generations into the finest tomb in the cemetery." +He looked curiously at Paul, but his was that small order of mind which +persistently fixes responsibility for the most inevitable calamity upon +some person. To the day of his death he would go on taxing the child's +death against Andrea; he did not even comment on this last proof of her +devoted love. + +After he was gone, Bachelder returned to his window, just in time to see +the bridge go. A thin stream in summer, meandering aimlessly between +wide banks, the river now ran a full half-mile wide, splitting the town +with its yeasty race. An annual occurrence, this was a matter of small +moment to the severed halves. Each would pursue the even tenor of its +way till the slack of the rains permitted communication by canoe and the +rebuilding of the bridge. But it had special significance now in that +Andrea lived on the other bank. + +He wondered if the news of Paul's return had crossed, muttering: "Poor +girl, poor girl!" Adding, a moment later: "But happier than the other. +Poor little Desdemona!" + + * * * * * + +How melancholy is the voice of a flood! Its resurgent dirge will move a +new-born babe to frightened wailing, and stirs in strong men a vague +uneasiness that roots in the vast and calamitous experience of the race. +Call of hungry waters, patter of driving rain, sough of the weird wind, +it requires good company and a red-coal fire to offset their moanings of +eternity. Yet though the fireless tropics could not supply one, and she +lacked the other, the storm voices were hardly responsible for Ethel +Steiner's sadness the third morning after her arrival. + +Neither was it due to the fact that Paul had failed to come in the +preceding night from the mine. Seeming relieved rather than distressed, +she had gone quietly to bed. No, it was neither the storm, his absence, +nor any of the small miseries that afflict young wives. Poor Desdemona! +The curtain was rising early on the tragedy which Bachelder foresaw. +Already the glamour was falling from Paul to the tropics, where it +rightfully belonged; this morning she was living her bitter hour, +fighting down the premonition of a fatal mistake. + +What with her thoughtful pauses, she made but a slow toilet, and when +the last rebellious curl had been coaxed to its place behind her small +ear, she turned, sighing, to the window. One glance, and she started +back, pale, clutching her hands. A rocky snout, thrusting far out into +the belly of the river's great bow, the Promontory stood high above the +ordinary flood level. Once, in far-away Aztec times, a Tewana tradition +had it that a cloudburst in the rains had swept it clear of houses, and +now Time's slow cycle had brought the same deadly coincidence. Where, +last night, a hundred lights had flickered below her windows, a boil of +yellow waters spread, cutting off her house, the last and highest, from +the mainland. Black storm had drowned the cries of fleeing householders. +The flood's mighty voice, bellowing angrily for more victims as it +swallowed house after house, had projected but a faint echo into her +dreams. Now, however, she remembered that Carmencita, her new maid, had +failed to bring in the morning coffee. + +Wringing her hands and loudly lamenting the deadly fear that made her +forget her mistress, Carmencita, poor girl, was in the crowd that was +helping Paul and Bachelder to launch a freight canoe. When Paul--who had +ridden in early from the little village, where he had been +storm-stayed--had tried to impress a crew, the peon boatman had sworn +volubly that no pole would touch bottom and that one might as well try +to paddle the town as a heavy canoe against such a flood. But when +Bachelder stepped in and manned the big sweep, a half-dozen followed. +Notwithstanding, their river wisdom proved. Paddling desperately, they +gained no nearer than fifty yards to the pale face at the window. + +"Don't be afraid!" Bachelder shouted, as they swept by. "We'll get you +next time!" + +If the walls did not melt? Already the flood was licking with hungry +tongues the adobe bricks where the plaster had bulged and fallen, and an +hour would fly while they made a landing and dragged the canoe back for +another cast. The boatmen knew! Their faces expressed, anticipated that +which happened as they made the landing half a mile below. Paul saw it +first. Through the swift passage he sat, facing astern, helplessly +clutching the gunwale, and his cry, raucous as that of a maimed animal, +signaled the fall of the house. Sobbing, he collapsed on the bank. + +Bachelder looked down upon him. Momentarily stunned, his thought +returned along with a feeling of relief that would have framed itself +thus in words: "Poor Desdemona! Now she will never know!" + +"_Senor! Senor! Mira!_" A boatman touched his shoulder. + +Two heads were swirling down the flood, a light and a dark. Bachelder +instantly knew Ethel, but, as yet, he could not make out the strong +swimmer who was at such infinite pains to hold the fair head above +water. Though, time and again, the dark head went under for smotheringly +long intervals, Ethel's never once dipped, and, up or down, the swimmer +battled fiercely, angling across the flood. She--for long hair stamped +her a woman--gained seventy yards shoreward while floating down two +hundred. Three hundred gave her another fifty. So, rising and sinking, +she drifted with her burden down upon Paul and Bachelder. At fifty yards +the artist caught a glimpse of her face, but not till she was almost +under their hands did Paul recognize the swimmer. + +"Andrea!" he shouted. + + * * * * * + +Reassured by Bachelder's cheery shout, Ethel had busied herself +collecting her watch and other trinkets from the bureau till a smacking +of wet feet caused her to turn, startled. A woman stood in the door, a +woman of matchless amplitudes, such as of old tempted the gods from +heaven. Stark naked, save for the black cloud that dripped below her +waist, her bronze beauty was framed by the ponderous arch. + +"I don't know who you are," Ethel said, recovering, "but you are very +beautiful, and, under the circumstances, welcome. Under ordinary +conditions, your advent would have been a trifle embarrassing. I must +find you a shawl before the canoes come. Here, take this blanket." + +She little imagined how embarrassing the visitation might have proved +under very ordinary conditions. Though the news of Paul's return did +cross before the bridge was carried away, Andrea did not hear it till +that morning, and she would never have had it from a Tewana neighbor. +They pitied the bereavement to which widowhood in the most cruel of +forms was now added. But among them she unfortunately counted a peon +woman of the upper Mexican plateau, one of the class which took from the +Conquest only Spanish viciousness to add to Aztec cruelty. Jealous of +Andrea's luck--as they had deemed it--in marriage, Pancha had thirsted +for the opportunity which came as they drew water together that morning +from the brink of the flood. + +"'Tis the luck of us all!" she exclaimed, malevolently ornamenting her +evil tidings. "They take their pleasure of us, these Gringos, then when +the hide wrinkles, ho for a prettier! They say Tewana hath not such +another as his new flame, and thy house is a hovel to that he fits up +for her on the Promontory." + +Here the hag paused, for two good reasons. That the barbed shaft might +sink deep and rankle from Andrea's belief that her supplanter was a girl +of her tribe, but principally because, just then, she went down under +the ruins of her own _olla_. A fighter, after her kind, with many a +cutting to her credit, she cowered like a snarling she-wolf among the +sharp potsherds cowed by the enormous anger she had provoked; lay and +watched while the tall beauty ripped shawl, slip and skirt from her +magnificent limbs, then turned and plunged into the flood. Pancha rose +and shook her black fist, hurling curses after. + +"May the alligators caress thy limbs, the fishes pluck thine eyes, the +wolves crack thy bleached bones on the strand." + +That was the lightest of them, but, unheeding Andrea swam on. As her own +house stood in the extreme skirt of the town, the Promontory lay more +than a mile below, but she could see neither it nor the night's +devastation because of the river's bend. Because of the same bend, she +had the aid of the current, which set strongly over to the other shore, +but apart from this the river was one great danger. Floating logs, huge +trees, acres of tangled greenery, the sweepings of a hundred miles of +jungle, covered its surface with other and ghastlier trove. Here the +saurians of Pancha's curse worried a drowned pig, there they fought over +a cow's swollen carcass; yet because of carrion taste or food plethora, +they let her by. There an enormous saber, long and thick as a church, +turned and tumbled, threshing air and water with enormous spreading +branches, creating dangerous swirls and eddies. These she avoided, and, +having swum the river at ebb and flood every day of her life from a +child, she now easily clove its roar and tumble; swam on, her heat +unabated by the water's chill, till, sweeping around the bend, she +sighted the lone house on the Promontory. + +That gave her pause. Had death, then, robbed her anger? The thought +broke the spring of her magnificent energy. Feeling at last the touch of +fatigue, she steered straight for the building and climbed in, to rest, +at a lower window, without a thought of its being occupied till Ethel +moved above. + +Who shall divine her thoughts as, standing there in the door, she gazed +upon her rival? Did she not recognize her as such, or was she moved by +the touch of sorrow, aftermath of the morning's bitterness, that still +lingered on the young wife's face? Events seemed to predicate the +former, but, be that as it may, the eyes which grief and despair had +heated till they flamed like small crucibles of molten gold, now cooled +to their usual soft brown; smiling, she refused the proffered blanket. + +"_Ven tu! Ven tu!_" she exclaimed, beckoning. Her urgent accent and +gesture carried her meaning, and without question Ethel followed down to +a lower window. + +"But the canoe?" she objected, when Andrea motioned for her to disrobe. +"It will soon be here!" + +"_Canoa_?" From the one word Andrea caught her meaning. "_No hay tiempo. +Mira!_" + +Leaning out, Ethel looked and shrank back, her inexperience convinced by +a single glance at the wall. She assisted the strong hands to rip away +her encumbering skirts. It took only a short half-minute, and with that +afforded time for a small femininity to come into play. Placing her own +shapely arm against Ethel's, Andrea murmured soft admiration at the +other's marvelous whiteness. But it was done in a breath. Slipping an +arm about Ethel's waist, Andrea jumped with her from the window, one +minute before the soaked walls collapsed. + +If Ethel's head had remained above, she might have retained her presence +of mind, and so have made things easier for her saviour, but, not +supposing that the whole world contained a mature woman who could not +swim, Andrea loosed her as they took the water. A quick dive partially +amended the error, retrieving Ethel, but not her composure. Coming up, +half-choked, she grappled Andrea, and the two went down together. The +Tewana could easily have broken the white girl's grip and--have lost +her. Instead, she held her breath and presently brought her senseless +burden to the surface. + +Of itself, the struggle was but a small thing to her strength, but +coming on top of the long swim under the shock and play of emotion, it +left her well nigh spent. Yet she struggled shoreward, battling, waging +the war of the primal creature that yields not till Death himself +reenforces bitter odds. + +To this exhaustion, the tales that float in Tehuantepec lay her end, and +Bachelder has never taken time to contradict them. But as she floated +almost within reach of his hand, she steadied at Paul's shout as under +an accession of sudden strength, and looked at her erstwhile husband. +Then, if never before, she knew--him, as well as his works! From him her +glance flashed to the fair face at her shoulder. What power of +divination possessed her? Or was it Bachelder's fancy? He swears to the +chosen few, the few who understand, that her face lit with the same +glory of tender pity that she held over her sick child. Then, before +they could reach her, she shot suddenly up till her bust gleamed wet to +the waist, turned, and dived, carrying down the senseless bride. + +Shouting, Bachelder also dived--in vain. In vain, the dives of his men. +Death, that mighty potentate, loves sweetness full well as a shining +mark. Swiftly, silently, a deep current bore them far out on the flooded +lands and there scoured a sepulcher safe from saurian teeth, beyond the +scope Pancha's curse. Later, the jungle flowed in after the receding +waters and wreathed over the twin grave morning-glories pure as the +white wife, glorious orchids rich as Andrea's bronze. + +HERE ENDS THE SPINNERS' BOOK OF FICTION BEING SHORT STORIES BY +CALIFORNIA WRITERS COMPILED BY THE BOOK COMMITTEE OF THE SPINNERS' CLUB +FOR THE SPINNERS' BENEFIT FUND INA D. COOLBRITH FIRST BENEFICIARY +ILLUSTRATED BY VARIOUS WESTERN ARTISTS THE DECORATIONS BY SPENCER WRIGHT +THE TYPOGRAPHY DESIGNED BY J. H. NASH PUBLISHED BY PAUL ELDER AND +COMPANY AND PRINTED FOR THEM AT THE TOMOYE PRESS NEW YORK NINETEEN +HUNDRED AND SEVEN + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Spinner's Book of Fiction, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPINNER'S BOOK OF FICTION *** + +***** This file should be named 20343.txt or 20343.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/3/4/20343/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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